Protego Totalum
by For Gallifrey
Summary: The story of Harry and Ginny's life between "Deathly Hallows" last chapter and epilogue, as told alternately by Harry and Ginny themselves.  "'Keep an eye on Draco Malfoy,' he said, 'don't forget what happened to Tom Riddle.'"
1. Introduction

_Harry_

Nineteen years ago, I defeated the most evil Dark wizard of all time.

_ Except for Grindelwald._

Well, yes. Except for Grindelwald. But let's face it, Voldemort was far more powerful and committed atrocities much more reprehensible than anything Grindelwald could have done.

_ Look at you, using your big words. I see Hermione finally got you to open up a book for once._

Why did I marry you again?

_ For my dashing good looks and charming wit, of course._

Of course.

_ But go on._

Thank you. As I was saying, nineteen years ago, the Dark wizard Voldemort was finally defeated once and for all. The tale has been told more times and in more ways than I can keep track of. Everyone knows what happened after the Battle of Hogwarts, and what became of the Elder Wand. Everyone knows that I am now happily married to my best friend, and have three beautiful children who light up my life – when they're not busy trying to drive me to an early grave. Sometimes those kids are such a horror that I seriously consider giving them a good hard kick in the –

_HARRY REALLY._

Right, sorry_. _Beautiful wife, wonderful children. What everyone _doesn't _know, and what I find myself recently being asked on a regular basis, is what happened between now and then. How did my relationship with Ron and Hermione grow over the years? What were the inner dynamics of the Potter household? Whatever happened to Malfoy, and to Neville, and Luna?

So Ginny and I decided to write a book, together, in a very raw, very real sort of way. We chose to write about our lives as we experienced them, with little to no editing. It felt more genuine to write it this way, and was definitely more enjoyable on our part.

We hope you enjoy reading it as much as we enjoyed writing it.

_ Well done, love. I couldn't have said it better myself._

_** I've got a Twitter account as well! If you really liked reading this, feel free to look for me over at H_J_Potter. Mischief managed **_


	2. Prologue

_They stood up at once, and together he, Ron, and Hermione left the Great Hall…they clambered over [the statue] and onto the spiral stone staircase that moved slowly upward like an escalator…_

_ "I'm putting the Elder Wand," [Harry] told Dumbledore, who was watching him with enormous affection and admiration, "back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be the end of it."_

_ Dumbledore nodded. They smiled at each other._

_ "Are you sure?" said Ron. There was the faintest trace of longing in his voice as he looked at the Elder Wand._

_ "I think Harry's right," said Hermione quietly._

_ "That wand's more trouble than it's worth," said Harry. "And quite honestly," he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, "I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."_

from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows


	3. Chapter 1

_Harry_

"Harry?"

Standing framed in the doorway, looking haggard and panicked, was Ginny. Her hair, always a sleek copper that draped elegantly down her back, was badly matted and tangled. Dirt, tearstains and bits of dried blood were caked on her face. She was still in her school robes, though they were now so tattered that they were virtually unrecognizable as a uniform. A shiny purple bruise ringed one of her eyes.

Never in my life had I seen a more beautiful sight.

An intense feeling of shock came over me and froze me to the spot. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around her and kiss her with reckless abandon, but somehow found myself unable to take so much as a step forward. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Ron and Hermione exchanging a knowing look. God I hated when they did that. It was like listening to two foreigners communicate in their native tongue: you don't know what they're talking about but you're pretty sure it's about you. Ron slipped his hand into Hermione's and led the way out of the room.

"See you in the common room, mate," he said quietly, patting my shoulder for reassurance. Hermione smiled warmly at us as she passed with a look that seemed to say, _Well finally._

I knew the feeling.

_You're telling me._

It seemed as though Ginny had been waiting for the cue of Ron's heavy footsteps on the stone stairs before she could move. She walked up to me slowly, much the same as one would do if approaching a wild and potentially dangerous animal.

_I was worried. You'd just gone through a traumatic event and I didn't know what sort of state you'd be in._

It was heartbreaking, I have to admit. Between her fingertips she toyed with a piece of soft, silky fabric. I only glanced briefly at what she was holding, more interested in the warm brown of her eyes. As she stepped closer, I noticed the flowery scent that seemed to follow wherever she went. It was somewhat obscured by a heavy smell of tinged fabric, which was disconcerting, but it was there and the recognition of it made my eyes burn with tears.

"You're alive."

We said it at the same time, and I immediately felt stupid. Of course she was alive; she had fallen on me only moments ago in the explosive celebration following the fall of Voldemort. Yet there was something different about standing there now, alone, staring at her, that made it finite.

She grinned at me somewhat awkwardly. "You dropped this," she said softly, pressing the material she was holding into my hands. It was so light and airy that, in the aftermath of battle, it hardly felt real. The Invisibility Cloak. "In the Great Hall. You dropped it as you and Ron and Hermione were leaving. I thought you might like to have it back, especially…now."

As she spoke, she shuffled her feet and stared at the floor. I thought it was strange, until a dawning realization came over me. "Ginny, I only left with them because they had to know," I said quickly, trying to intone as much of an apology as possible. "They've been with me through all of this, they helped me track down the last of the Horcruxes, I couldn't have beaten him without their help – "

"What's a Horcrux?"

There was a subtle hint of defiance disguised in her ignorance. I felt it rather than heard it. She looked me…oh god, the way she looked at me. Her eyes were almost too wide, waiting patiently for an answer she knew wouldn't come. It was a challenge and it made my stomach plummet to see it. It made sense; after all, I had never properly explained to her where it was that we had gone all those months ago. But the idea of explaining it now made my head ache with anticipatory exhaustion. I exhaled loudly in spite of myself.

The sound of my exasperation must have weakened her passive-aggressive resolve.

_It did. I felt terrible._

The muscles in her face relaxed and she unfolded her arms. "I'm sorry, forget it, I don't even – "

"A Horcrux is a piece of someone's soul that they conceal in an object," I told her resignedly. "If you make one, you can't be killed unless the object is damaged beyond magical repair. Voldemort made seven of them. Dumbledore was in the process of destroying them when he died, and made it clear that I was to destroy the rest of them. He forbade me to tell anyone but Ron and Hermione what we were doing. It was tough and dangerous, and seriously draining. We never stayed in the same place for more than a night, we were constantly fighting, and more than once we were sure that we were going to die. Hermione was tortured and Ron got possessed and I – well, I allowed Voldemort to use the Killing Curse on me as…as a sort of sacrifice. I died…I think…I don't know, it's all very complicated and confusing but I want you to know…when I went into the Forest to face Voldemort, to face death…I thought of you. You were the last thought I wanted to have. I don't think I could have gone through with it without that thought. I…I really care about you, Ginny."

If you're confused, it's all right. That makes two of us.

_Make that three._

There was a palpable silence after I had finished speaking. My heart was racing and my mouth had gone dry. It had all sounded much better in my head, as these things often do. At the very least I had meant to space it out a bit more. Everything I had said had been deliberate and genuine, though I could only wonder what she would think of my delivery. As it was, her eyes were searching mine with a certain fervor, as though if she stared at me long enough she could extract reason and logic. I'm very sorry to say that she was sorely mistaken.

If she was at all alarmed by my rambling outburst, she made no sign of it. Instead she looked up at me with an uncomfortable yet warm smile. "It's getting late," she said in a shabby attempt at nonchalance. "We'd better get you into bed or you might go mad with exhaustion. That's one of the other reasons I thought I'd bring you this." She gently tugged the Invisibility Cloak out of my inattentive hands and unfolded it. "Most of the protective enchantments on the castle are gone, but just to be safe…Well, I didn't think you'd fancy the thought of walking all the way up to Gryffindor tower in full view of everyone. Not yet, anyway."

Relief swept over me yet again. Ginny was rambling as badly as I was; she must have felt as thoroughly run-down as I did. In spite of this obvious fatigue, she had kept my best interest at heart, knowing that I ached for a short reprieve. I could have kissed her. If every muscle and bone in my body hadn't been screaming in pain, I would have. As it was, all I could muster was a half-hearted smile as she draped the cloak over my shoulders and adjusted it to be sure I really was invisible.

"How do I look?" I asked.

"You don't," she replied honestly.

It was stupid, but we both erupted into a hysterical fit of giggles. It was a testament to our exhaustion that for the next several minutes, neither of us could stop. At last Ginny managed to regain her senses and offered her hand out to me.

"Here," she said simply. I obeyed without question, willing to let her lead me to the ends of the earth. Luckily, the only place she wanted to lead me was to the inside of the pocket of her robes. It made sense, as she would have looked as ridiculous holding hands with an invisible man as Luna did that time she wore a giant lion's head to a Quidditch match. Nevertheless, as she closed her fingertips around mine, I began to realize just how much I had been underestimating the value of simple comfort. I grinned, thankful that I was invisible because my eyes were beginning to burn and prickle again.

Together we walked down the staircase and past the stone gargoyle toward Gryffindor tower. I was suddenly quite keenly aware of the way I was staggering and shuffling my feet. I stepped carefully in a desperate attempt to hide my stumbling from Ginny, but she knew me all too well – before long she had put my arm around her neck and encouraged me to lean on her for support. I went with it as much as I could without giving away my disguise. To be honest, I was just glad for the excuse to have my arm around her.

As we walked through the battered corridors, my heavy conscience took note of how badly the castle had been damaged. There were large gaping holes were some of my favorite portraits had been. Staircases hung in midair, having been blown apart in the middle. The statues of famous wizards that hadn't been completely destroyed were missing arms, legs, and in the case of the one-eyed witch that guarded over a secret passageway to Honeydukes, a good chunk of their heads. We passed a number of people who were somberly celebratory. Some nodded and smiled at Ginny; a sixth-year Hufflepuff girl I didn't recognize waved at her enthusiastically. Over and over I heard my name from people who were excitedly recounting the battle for the others who had joined in late, or else were expressing a wish to thank me in person.

I clutched the cloak more snugly around my body.

After what felt like an eternity, we at last reached the familiar portrait of the Fat Lady. It was empty. A pair of eyes peered cautiously from the right-hand side of the frame. The Fat Lady saw Ginny and breathed a heavy sigh of relief, though with a distinct hint of residual trepidation.

"Ah, Miss Weasley, of course. Has – has he gone, then?" she whispered, her eyes darting around as though expecting to see Voldemort crop up from behind us at any moment.

_Right, because that's definitely his style._

Ginny gave a silent and resolute nod.

This news filled the Fat Lady with such elation that she squealed loudly and wrenched open the entrance to the common room. She ushered us in with a sense of urgency, clearly eager to spread the news to anyone she could find. I pressed my palm against the small of Ginny's back, reassuring her that I was there but also acknowledging her indepence.

_I smell a Dean Thomas reference._

It took all of my waning strength not to succumb to the feeling of overwhelming familiarity and comfort. Nothing in the common room had changed. There was no fire in the fireplace, as the weather was unusually warm, but everything else was whole and intact. My favorite squashy chairs remained where they had always been, and half-finished bits of homework lay scattered and forgotten across several tables. The only difference was that the room was entirely void of students, but then, that was precisely how I liked it.

My eyes swept over the staircase leading to the boys' dormitory, and suddenly my eyelids felt extraordinarily heavy.

Just as before, Ginny led the way up to my old bedroom, and I followed automatically. It was so easy to just slide my hand into hers and permit her to take the lead. I'm not sure I would have made it this far without her. If she hadn't kept a firm grip on me and steered me in the right direction, I would probably have tripped on a shoelace and collapsed into sleep somewhere along the third-floor corridor. How could I thank her enough for all her kindness, after everything I had put her through? My stomach was beginning to ache painfully again.

Not even my old four-poster bed had changed, apart from the door to the room now reading "SEVENTH YEARS". Several of the beds, including mine, looked as though they hadn't been touched all year – which, I reminded myself, they probably hadn't.

"Here, let me take your cloak," she said, reaching out and carefully uncovering me. She pulled down the covers to my bed and tugged the curtains closed. With a wide sweep of her wand, she added a Disillusionment and Silencing Charm. I could scarcely keep my eyes open, but she still had the presence of mind to shield us from interruption. My heart swelled with gratitude. There were so many things I still wanted to say, so many words that were caught in my dry, scratchy throat…

"That's better, isn't it?" she said, bending down to tuck the cloak safely underneath the bed.

That was the last thing I can remember having heard that night.

_Yes, something like that. What I had said was, "Would you like some help getting dressed for bed? I don't think Neville would mind if you took one of his night – "_

_THUD._

_Alarmed, I tightened my grasp on my wand and whirled around on my heels to find the source of the dull crash. It was Harry. He was lying facedown on the bed with his feet hanging off the side. I suppressed a giggle. If only they could all see their hero now, limbs hanging at awkward angles, face pressed into a pillow, beginning to lightly snore._

Thanks, love.

_Don't mention it._

" – _shirts," I finished needlessly. Admittedly I felt slightly foolish for not anticipating this. I knelt down and untied his trainers, slipped them off his feet, and pushed them underneath the bed on top of his cloak. Then I snuck his glasses off his face before he could snap them in his sleep. I briefly considered pulling off his jeans –_

Excuse me?

- _but then thought better of it. For one thing, when we had dated it had only been for a few short weeks; I wasn't sure how he would feel if he woke up to find his pants were missing. For another, he was apparently having no trouble sleeping in his clothes. If he was uncomfortable, he would wake himself up and he could disrobe himself then._

Girls are such complex creatures. You know I would have said yes. But continue.

_Well anyway. As I watched him sleep, empathetic to his exhaustion and pleased that he was finally resting, fatigue began to creep slowly over me. I remembered that I had also been awake for the better part of the night. My muscles ached and my heart panged when I remembered that not all of my family would be returning to the Burrow. Weary and dispirited, I had difficulty mustering the strength to leave. The girls' dormitory seemed so far away, and the gentle sound of Harry's snoring was strangely inviting. We had both lost so much tonight. Perhaps for once we deserved each other's company._

Too right you are.

_I stripped down to my shirt and panties, adding my discarded robes to the growing pile beneath the bed. Then I slipped beneath the covers, pushed Harry gently aside, and lay down next to him. Ron and Hermione had seen us only moments ago, I reasoned. As Harry's best friends, surely they understood his desire to vanish tonight. No doubt they would assume that I was with him, and therefore no one would be worried or upset._

_It was a curious feeling, knowing we were invisible together. We really were in a world all our own now. Wondering whether he was aware of my presence in his unconsciousness, I nestled under the blankets and closed my eyes. I didn't have to wonder for long; his arm soon flung itself over my belly and tucked his hand beneath me in an embrace. A smile worked its way across my face despite my sadness, and I slowly drifted into a dreamless sleep._

You're a brilliant writer Ginny, thank you.

_You're still not getting laid tonight._

Damn it.


	4. Chapter 2

_Ginny_

It was early afternoon by the time I finally woke and decided to brave the outside world. Through a window someone had opened during the night, birds were singing with a cheer I did not feel. Harry was still sleeping in exactly the same position he had been all night – arm flung over my middle, nose buried in my shoulder, snoring lightly. If a nightmare had plagued him during the night, I hadn't noticed. I took a moment to run my fingers along the rough skin of his cheek. His breath, deep and heavy, came as something of a reassurance to me.

Despite the sunshine that filtered in through the window, I shivered as I got out of bed and pulled on my robes. There was considerable commotion downstairs. More voices than I was accustomed to hearing were whispering to each other in hushed tones. With one last look at Harry, I protectively drew the curtains around the bed and shuffled slowly down the cold stone steps.

The common room was packed with sleeping bodies. Adults and students, a good number of people I didn't recognize, were sprawled out in various places. By the dormitory steps, I saw my own parents sleeping peacefully on a makeshift bed that had probably been magicked into existence. My father shifted uneasily in his sleep, but thankfully didn't wake. It was a strange feeling: on any other day, I would have been panic-stricken to see them after having just left Harry's bed.

_Definitely awkward._

To the contrary, this morning the sight came as something of a relief.

As did the sight of Ron, Hermione, George, Charlie, Bill and Percy, who were holding hushed council by the fireplace. Ron's face broke into a grin when he saw me.

"Slept under the Invisibility Cloak last night, did you?" he asked knowingly.

"Don't be stupid; the cloak would have slipped off in the middle of the night," Hermione reproached him with a nudge. "They must have used a Disillusionment Charm."

_Do those two EVER stop fighting?_

To my horror, my brothers and Hermione were now looking at me with empathy. Of course – Ron and Harry shared a room. He must have noticed that Harry's bed had appeared empty all night, then saw me descending the stairs from the boys' dormitory and added it all up. The sudden flush of my cheeks betrayed my guilt.

"I – thought he deserved a bit of privacy," I said sheepishly, knowing it was a poor excuse. In this case, I felt honesty was the best course of action. To my distinct surprise, Ron looked more pleased than angry.

_It's amazing what getting laid can do for a person's temperament._

"Thanks," he said simply.

I continued to stare uncomfortably at my shoes until Hermione rested a hand on my shoulder. "Look, Ginny," she said, "he's our best friend. What we went through together…you can't begin to imagine. We're worried about him, but we'll feel better knowing you're taking good care of him. You _will _take good care of him, won't you?"

Judging by the look on her face, she was torn between anxiety over Harry and respect for his privacy. I have to admit to a pang of jealousy when Hermione mentioned their journey. Did anyone even consider the agony _I _had been in? My brother, my best friend and the only man I have ever loved had been missing for nearly a year. Every day I woke and wondered if they were still alive. Every night I went to bed wondering if they too were sleeping. Now that the battle was over and I knew they were unscathed, relief was rapidly turning into resentment.

_Look, I said I was sorry – _

Could I please just tell my story?

_Sorry._

It's all right.

"I certainly will," I said, pleased at least that they were putting his care in my hands. "He'll be all right. He's just upstairs now, sleeping it off. Once he had a bit of rest, a full stomach and a good wash, he'll come around."

I tried to sound more convinced than I felt.

"So," I said, deliberately trying to change the subject, "who _are _all these people?"

"Survivors," said Bill. The word hung heavy in the air as we took in the solemnity of the situtation. "Family that didn't want to be separated, mostly. I've just had a look; the castle's full of them. Even Fleur is sleeping upstairs at the moment. We all thought…well, we thought we'd best stick together, you know."

There was a tangible sense of sadness in the word. George was staring hard into the empty grate of the fireplace. Hermione snuck her arm around Ron's waist, to which he responded by slipping his arm over her shoulders. I sighed loudly to break up the tension, fearing that I would otherwise dissolve into tears.

"I think we ought to go down to the Great Hall," I suggested, shoving my hands into the pockets of my robes a little too forcefully. "It's still fairly intact, and if last night was any indication, the house-elves are probably cooking up some breakfast as we speak."

Hermione opened her mouth in protest, but seemed to think better of it. Then she said, "Yes, I think we could all do with a bit of food. Or at least each other's company."

_Wait – she said WHAT?_

We set off at a slow, wandering pace toward the Great Hall. The castle somehow looked even more ragged in the daylight, possibly because the sun was now shining through in places it never had before. Mercifully the weather was now mild and the breeze that swept through the corridors was warm. We passed a number of other Hogwarts defenders on our way, but short of waves and brief greetings, we kept our conversations to ourselves. Even in the Great Hall, where a brilliant blue sky shone through the half of the castle wall that had been blown apart, the general mood was quiet and solemn.

True to my suspicions, the house-elves had inundated the tables with a vast assortment of delicious foods. Unlike so many of the celebratory feasts that had filled the Hall with chatter and laughter, breakfast – or lunch, truthfully – acknowledged the heavy losses that had been sustained. Many of the survivors were still sleeping off war weariness. Those who wandered into the Hall were pensive and reserved. More often than not they were alone. My brothers, our plus-one, and myself kept largely to ourselves. Once we had finally spoken out loud about Fred's death and tearfully shared our grief with one another, we relaxed and found ourselves capable of something that looked very much like normal conversation. I took up a collection of sandwiches and a goblet of pumpkin juice. After spending what I reasoned to be a fair amount of time with my family, I made a vague excuse and stood up from the table.

"Mind the boys, will you?" I murmured to Hermione, flicking my wand to cause the pile of food on my plate as well as the goblet to disappear. Mercifully, we were such good friends that it needed no further explanation. Hermione nodded and immediately returned to the conversation. While she kept the others distracted, I was able to slip out of the room and trundle back up to Gryffindor Tower. The subtlety of the silent understanding between Hermione and me made my heart swell. I had forgotten just how much I had missed her these past long months.

The Fat Lady recognized me at once and, beaming, allowed me entrance without any pretense of a password. As I crawled into the opening, my heart sank, remembering that my parents were in the room. All I wanted was to tend to Harry; how could I explain that to them? Once inside, my eyes shot to the bunk between the stairs to the dormitories. Mum and Dad were both still there, still in a deep slumber. Thank god. I started to exhale noisily with relief, but caught myself midway. Luckily it passed unnoticed, and I successfully crept back up the stairs to the boys' dormitory.

After re-enforcing my protective enchantments, I pulled back the curtains to find Harry drenched in a cold sweat.

_Lovely._

He had kicked the covers down to the foot of the bed and was tossing and turning with violent force. Concerned, I sat on the edge of the bed and debated shaking him awake. I hate to watch him suffer through a vicious nightmare, particularly after the events of the night before, but I was afraid that waking him abruptly from a sound sleep would be more startling than the dream itself. It gave my heart an unpleasant flop to hear him let out an agonized moan. I whispered his name softly, wondering if it would be enough. His eyebrows raised in panic.

"No…please…don't…" he croaked. There was so much fear and sadness in his voice that it made my decision for me. I grabbed his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.

"Harry, you're dreaming. Wake up. It's okay, it's not real, it's just a dream," I said, a bit more loudly this time. His body stiffened in response as though I had fatally wounded him. Gasping as though he were drowning, he sat bolt upright with both eyes open wide. He stared at me for several minutes, seeing me but clearly not registering that I was there. His hand was clamped hard to my wrist and he was panting heavily.

"Ginny – you – you're here – you're alive – but I thought – I dreamed – he was – and you – " His desperate desire to understand was punctuated by shallow breaths. I pressed both my hands against his cheeks and forced him to look me in the eye.

"It's not real," I repeated in what I hoped was a calming voice. The truth was, hearing the content of his dream had made me somewhat panicky too. "You're all right. Everything's all right. I'm here and you're here and we're all right. We're at Hogwarts. Voldemort is dead. The war is over. We've won."

It took a few more minutes for him to wake and fully grasp the present situation. His eyes continued to dart around the room suspiciously, as though expecting a Death Eater to emerge from his wardrobe or underneath the bed. I resigned myself to the fact that he would probably be jumpy like this for the rest of his life. It reminded me of a story I'd once heard, about Mad-Eye Moody hearing a car backfire and proceeding to turn the entire street into jam. I repressed a giggle as I imagined Harry doing something similar.

_You try having a seriously evil wizard try to kill you over and over again for seven years and we'll see how well _you _sleep at night._

Eventually his breathing slowed and he released his admittedly painful grip on my arm. I continued to hold his head in my hands, running my fingers soothingly through his damp hair. Once I saw that he was in a somewhat calmer state, I reached across and snatched one of the sandwich halves that I had conjured.

_Could we please not make any reference to snatching ever again?_

"Are you hungry?" I asked, offering him the sandwich. "I brought a bit of everything, though I sort of remember you liking roast beef, yeah?"

He didn't answer. It was as though he was in a trance; he simply stared at his hands with a faraway look in his eyes. Given the awful nightmare I was sure he'd just had, I could imagine why. When he finally spoke, it was with the world's weight on his shoulders.

"Ginny, I'm sorry."

"What? For…for what?" I asked, startled.

"For Fred. For everyone I've put in harm's way. I'm so sorry. And for ditching you and leaving you to wonder where I was, for all the worry I caused you. I feel awful about that now. I should've kept you informed, I should have – "

"Don't you dare do that, Harry Potter," I interrupted, sharp and stern. "Don't you dare start blaming yourself. Fred died trying to protect the wizarding world." It was difficult to keep my voice from faltering, but I pressed on regardless. "You had nothing to do with it. The battle would have happened no matter what you did. In fact, had you not confronted Voldemort, it would probably have been much worse. As for keeping me informed – you're barking! How in the name of Merlin would you have been able to do that? It was all you could do just to keep under the Death Eater's radar. Harry, you defeated Voldemort. You saved us all."

His apology, as well as the explanation he must have agonized to give me the night before, made me abandon my ill feelings about the months we had spent apart. For one heart-wrenching moment, I thought I had said the wrong thing. He had lifted his head to reveal streams of tears trickling down both cheeks. In all my life, despite growing up around boys, I had never seen a grown man cry. The sight of it broke my heart and I choked back tears of my own. _No, _I told myself resolutely, _now is the time for strength._

"Harry." I spoke his name softly, soothingly, holding his head in my hands. With my thumb I brushed away the dampness underneath his eyelashes. "I re-enforced the enchantments from last night. No one can hear us, or see us for that matter. It's all right. Let go."


	5. Chapter 3

_Harry_

After a brief moment of consideration, I closed my eyes and let out a torturous scream of pain. Every feeling of uncertainty, of physical anguish, of exhaustion and remorse and deprivation I poured into that scream. My body shook with the power of it. When my lungs had emptied, I dissolved into rattling sobs so intense that Ginny had to put her arms around me just to keep me from falling off the bed. Throughout my gasps and hiccups, she refused to say a word.

It was shameful and humiliating to cry like that in front of someone. I don't think I'd ever done that before. I mean, there was that one time when we were visiting my parents' graves and I lost it, but Hermione was kind enough to look away. Well okay, and then there was the time that Dumbledore told me I survived Voldemort's attack when I was a baby because my mother had died to save me, but I was eleven for crying out loud. Even then, he had had the decency turn his eyes away. This was something entirely different. There I was, huddled in Ginny's arms, bawling away like a child who had just had his favorite toy taken away.

But I couldn't help it. As soon as she had explained that no one could hear or see us, I fell apart. I put seventeen years' worth of devastation and loss into that scream. And once I got started, I couldn't stop. The agony continued to well up and bubble over like a bad batch of Polyjuice Potion. What made me feel worse was knowing that so many people had lost loved ones that night. They were all suffering like this, and no matter what Ginny said to the contrary, I felt responsible. If I had only faced Voldemort sooner, destroyed the Horcruxes sooner, gone to search Hogwarts sooner…

It was too gruesome to consider.

Ginny was a beautiful and loving source of support. As I sat there, half moaning and half weeping, she kept her arms tight around me and remained silent. I buried my nose deep into her robes, finding comfort in their warmth and the rhythmic beating of her heart. Somehow it eased my pain, as though the sound of her lifeblood coursing through her veins made it all worthwhile.

"…gone, gone, they're all gone," I cried, clutching her so tightly that it made my fingers hurt. "My parents, Sirius, Dumbledore…everyone I let myself get close to…even Lupin…gone…what do I do now? I can't – I don't – I – " My mind was racing a million miles a second and not even I could keep up with it. It was something of a mixture of "I can't do this anymore" and "I don't know what to do now". I had never felt so utterly alone. A picture flashed in front of me of my parents, Sirius, and Lupin, in misty ethereal form, walking beside me in the Forest. Had that actually happened? It seemed like a lifetime ago. A resentful feeling of abandonment surged in my chest at the thought of it. How could they have left me alone like this? How was I supposed to cope with this on my own? At the same time, I felt guilty. I should have been relieved that it was all over, yet all I was left with was anger and disappointment. Why couldn't I enjoy my victory? Was it even a victory, after I had lost so much?

One look in my eyes and Ginny understood all of it.

_I'm good like that._

"You haven't lost everyone," she said quietly. "You've still got me. You've still got Hermione, and Ron, and my entire family. You've still got Neville and Luna and a dozen other people who care about you. And if you think for one minute that we're going to make you figure this out on your own, you're mental. None of us are going anywhere, Harry. Least of all me."

To be honest, it didn't quite matter what she said. She could have told me that cows were dancing on Mars, for all it was worth. What mattered was the way she said it. There was something in the sound of her voice that I had always loved, a warmth and a contagious feeling of confidence. It made me feel as though I had just downed six glasses of firewhisky. It was then that I knew, with absolute certainty, that she was the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with. With her by my side, I could get through this. I could get through anything.

I struggled with a halfhearted and very watery smile. She smiled back at me, smoothing a stray wisp of hair away from my eyes.

_You and your emo hair. One day I'm going to surprise you with a haircut; you won't even know what hit you._

"Look," she said, reaching across the bed and handing me my glasses, "I know you have no idea where to go or what to do from here. None of us do. But personally, I think a nice hot bath in the prefect's bathroom sounds like a good place to start."

As soon as she said it, I pictured myself sinking deeply into a cushion of warm, soapy bubbles. I resisted the urge to moan aloud in response to how wonderful it sounded. Without waiting for an answer, or perhaps taking my closed eyes and bitten lip as her cue, she rose and helped me stumble awkwardly out of bed. I must have aged about eighty years overnight; I couldn't think of a single part of my body that didn't ache in some way. Even though I had slept for an absurd amount of time, my fit of hysterics had drained me of any spare energy I might have had. If Ginny hadn't been there, I would probably have been content to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for days on end.

_Very much like what you do on laundry day._

A panicked thought suddenly struck me, and I grasped Ginny's shoulder as she bent down to retrieve something from the floor. "Wait," I said urgently, "wait. Hang on a minute. I…don't think I'm ready to face anyone just yet. I mean, I know they risked their lives to fight for me last night, and it's not that I don't appreciate what they've done, but – "

The rest was unnecessary. As I spoke, Ginny was pulling a familiar portion of silky fabric out from beneath the bed and unraveling it before me. With a knowing smile, she tossed it over my head and shoulders. "Do you know, I don't want to be seen with you until you've washed up a bit. I mean _really, _how can you make an appearance if you're not even presentable? No, best to leave this to just the two of us."

To be perfectly honest, as much as I wanted to see Neville and Luna and all the others I hadn't had a moment with since the battle, what I craved more than anything was Ginny's sole love and attention. In a shamelessly greedy sort of way, I wanted her all to myself. There would be time to socialize afterward. Right then, as I recovered from what was quite possibly the most traumatic experience of my life, I felt I deserved some individual care.

_Always the flair for the dramatic._

Not only did she seem to understand this, but she offered it before I could ask so that I didn't have to risk looking the fool. Her consideration for my pride is just one of the many things I've always loved about her. I also deeply appreciated her attempt at humor, though it was difficult to show it at the time. I forced a grin and hoped that it would suffice.

Once I was satisfactorily disguised, she followed the routine from the night before by nudging my hand into the pocket of her robes and setting off down the stairs. The common room was littered with sleeping wizards and witches, parents and children and teachers and shopkeepers I had briefly glimpsed in the chaos the night before. "Survivors," Ginny whispered simply. I understood at once, imagining my exhausted compatriots dropping to sleep in any spare corner they could find. "Looks like everyone is still down at breakfast. Even Mum and Dad have gone."

Although this was clearly supposed to make me feel better, I caught a hint of wistfulness in her voice. I squeezed her hand in silent reassurance and resolved to let her rejoin her family as soon as possible.

Once again we found ourselves plodding, hand in hand, through the remnants of the castle. When it came time to climb the staircase, Ginny walked behind me with her arm around my back. It was slow and difficult work, and I was sure that my knees were going to buckle at any moment, but with her steadying guidance we finally managed to amble our way to the top. No one was there to witness the bizarre sight of Ginny moving an invisible body up the stairs, but I can only imagine what the murmuring portraits were thinking.

_Oh, I'd completely forgotten about that! I was so focused on making sure you didn't collapse that I didn't even stop to think – how completely stupid! We're just lucky no one was there, I suppose._

"So, the prefect's bathroom, eh?" I said, feeling so relieved at having reached the fifth floor at last that casual conversation came easily.

"Yeah, Hermione mentioned it to me once. It was the night before those awful O.W.L. exams, and I was about to lose it completely. She gave me the password for this bathroom. She said it was the cleanest one she'd ever seen in the castle, and had a huge bathtub that you could practically swim laps in. I had the loveliest bubble bath I've ever had in my life. To this day I attribute all the Outstandings I got to that night."

"Makes sense," I chuckled. "And you can definitely swim laps in it. I did, anyway."

Caught by surprise, she whirled around at the statue of Boris the Bewildered and stared in my general direction. "You've been in here before?" she asked. The expression on her face was a perfect match of that on the face of the statue, and her eyes missed mine by several inches.

"Sure, when I was Quidditch captain," I explained, betraying my exhaustion with a heavy sigh. "And then there was one time in fourth year – I'll tell you all about it in the bath, yeah?"

It wasn't that I didn't want to tell her the story. After a few short weeks of dating followed by several months apart, I felt myself full of wild and interesting things I wanted to share with her. As a matter of fact, it was all I could do not to let them all tumble out at once. But the instant the words left my mouth, I found myself without the energy to continue. I could only imagine her confusion.

_I remember that! I remember thinking that I had made you angry by forcing you to make conversation, but then I remembered that you were the one to bring it up in the first place. Harry Potter, you are an enigma._

Don't you know it.

She raised her eyebrows and chose not to respond, instead turning toward the statue and offering the required password. Boris stepped lithely aside, revealing what looked to be the only part of the castle that hadn't been utterly decimated.

_Lithely – decimated – are you sure you didn't make Hermione write this for you?_

I know how to use a thesaurus, thank you very much. About the only useful thing I learned at Hogwarts.

_That and Expelliarmus._

Exactly.

The bathroom was precisely how I remembered it: toilets on one side, a tremendous bathtub with a dozen taps and fluffy white towels on the other. As soon as the entrance was closed, I pulled off the Cloak and let it fall to the floor. There was something strangely liberating about being alone with Ginny in this big beautiful room with its high ceiling and stained class windows. The familiar image of her in a long white gown flashed across my mind, and I smiled at the thought of the stranger at the end of the aisle having my face.

_Pathetic. Romantic, sweet and adorable – but pathetic._

While she set to work twisting the various knobs to fill the bath, a sweeping realization washed over me, as though I had suddenly been plunged head-first into the Black Lake:

I was going to have to take off all my clothes for this.

This would be the first time that she would see me naked.

And my precious Invisibility Cloak could do nothing to save me.


	6. Chapter 4

_Ginny_

"I've got to tell you, this is not how I pictured getting naked in front of you for the first time."

Straightening up after having filled the bathtub to my content, I turned to see Harry blushing furiously. It was admittedly satisfying to think of all the years I had wasted being too embarrassed to speak in front of him, yet here he was, his cheeks flushed with a brilliant scarlet. His voice had deepened slightly as though to make up for his emasculating modesty. I smiled with warmth and confidence as I walked toward him. The truth was, I hadn't fully considered what "let's take a bath together" entailed, and he had brought me back to a startling reality.

But I wasn't going to let him know that. It felt good to be the one in control of the situation for once, even if I was only pretending.

_This sentence made me angry until I remembered that that's basically how I survived school._

"Not that I've thought about getting naked in front of you loads of times or anything, er – that's not – I mean, that – that's not exactly what I meant to say, exactly," he stammered helplessly. It was distinctly adorable.

_Sometimes I wish words were tangible so we could shove them back into our mouths and pretend they never happened._

Part of the reason why I was more amused than offended, I think, was that I was nervous too. We were seventeen; what did we know about intimacy? Yet somehow his insecurity gave me strength. Here was a man who had had the Killing Curse aimed at him no less than five times in his life, the man who had approached Voldemort without fear on more than occasion, nervous about dropping his trousers in front of me. If he could look down the end of the most blood-smeared wand in existence, surely I could manage to make him feel comfortable in front of me.

"I knew what you meant," I said softly, slipping my hands into his and giving them a small squeeze. Without hesitation, without thinking too hard on the subject, I pressed my lips hard against his with an energy I didn't know I had.

_You vixen you._

As I had expected, he was completely caught by surprise. It only took a second, however, for him to realize what was happening. Before I knew it, his arms were around me and he was holding me so close that I thought I could hear my ribs cracking. It was a kiss more passionate than any we had shared, including the time I had lured him into my bedroom on his birthday last year. It took everything I had to break away before it went too far.

_Tease._

"Does that help?" I asked. He laughed, the first good earnest laugh I'd heard from him in months, and stared down at the floor.

"Not…not exactly, no," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. I giggled. I couldn't help it. I knew exactly what he was alluding to, and it made me feel like I was eleven years old again and writing him a Valentine's Day card. Interesting, the path life takes us to get to where we are.

"Look, Harry – do you remember how we got together in the first place?"

"Not really. I mean, I remember something about Quidditch…but no, the rest is a blur." He looked at me with blinking eyes. "Wow, I really haven't a clue. How _did _we get together?"

"We kissed. In the common room after a big game, remember? I just ran up to you and all of a sudden we were kissing. I can't even recall who started it, really. But that's the thing. It doesn't matter. We both knew what we wanted and we just dived right in. I think this ought to be the same sort of thing. Just…close your eyes and do it."

With that, I unfastened the school robes I had been wearing and let the heavy material fall to the floor. Although I was still wearing the traditional blouse and pants, Harry gaped at me as though I were completely nude. I couldn't resist smiling as I kicked the tattered robes aside. It would probably have been smart to bring a clean set with me, but I would worry about that later.

"Do I _have_ to close my eyes?"

For a great savior of the wizarding world, he certainly was adorable.

_I may have been the Chosen One, but I was also seventeen for crap's sake!_

Trying to suppress the trembling in my hands, I loosened the tie around my neck and made to take it off. Harry raised his hand to stop me.

"No," he said quietly and with what sounded like feigned confidence, "let me." He slipped the tie off easily from around my neck and, keeping his eyes locked on mine, slowly unbuttoned my shirt. I felt a new chill as first the air met my bare skin and then his warm hands slid the shirt off my shoulders. Intriguingly, his breathing calmed while he continued to unclothe me. Initially I had thought it would make him more comfortable if I got naked first. I was now deeply regretting this decision.

When the last sock was off my foot, he took a moment to admire his work, as if I were a painting he had just finished. A crooked half-smile crossed his face. I knew I was blushing furiously, but there was nothing for it.

He tried to tug his own shirt over his head, but caught himself halfway up and swore loudly. "_Ouch,_" he groaned. "Er, Ginny…? I think I'm stuck."

Amusing though it was to see him tangled in his own t-shirt, I sensed that he was in pain and hurried to help him out of it. It took a bit of work, but finally I managed to work out his elbows and lift the shirt off of him. My heart fluttered to see the blood-caked wounds that had made their way to his bare chest. I wondered if any of the scars were permanent.

I fully intended to help him take off his jeans, but this is Harry Potter we're talking about here. He stubbornly waved me away and was able to pull them halfway down, wincing all the while.

Then he got himself into trouble.

His back must have ached painfully as he bent over double, because he decided that was a fine time to lift up his knees and step out of the jeans. The trouble was that he was badly coordinated. I only just caught him as he started to tumble over – except I'm much smaller than he is, and the net result was the both of us crashing to the floor, him on top of me.

Completely and utterly naked.

_Not my fault you're such a klutz. Besides, how do you know that wasn't my plan all along?_

Oh, a devious ploy to have sex with me. Masterfully executed, yes, well done.

_Well you know – whatever, just continue the story._

I will then.

In the face of such embarrassment, there really is only one course of action: roaring laughter. Both of us immediately set to work giggling away our nerves.

_I don't giggle!_

For goodness sakes, Harry, could you please just keep quiet? I don't interrupt _your _piece every ten seconds!

_Sorry._

As I was saying, there we were, stark naked, sprawled across the bathroom floor in a very compromising position. A feeling of awkwardness hung heavy in the air. Whether from nerves or from seeing humor in the situation, he started to laugh, and I couldn't help laughing along with him.

"_Damn it Harry, _will you _ever _learn to accept help for _anything?" _I cried, shoving him off more roughly than I had intended.

I want to tell you that I kissed him slowly and tenderly, helping him remove his clothes piece by piece with Foreigner playing in the background. I want to tell you that I took his hand and helped him gently ease his battle-weary body into the bathtub. I want to tell you I spent hours caressing his aching muscles and listening to his warrior's tale.

The truth is, he tripped on his jeans, used me to break his fall, then tumbled unceremoniously into the bath when I pushed him off of me.

Water splashed everywhere as he crashed, soaking me in multi-colored bubbles. When he came sputtering to the surface, a devious smile was planted on his lips.

"Well?" he asked, shaking his damp mane away from his eyes. "Are you coming in or what?"

You would never know that ten minutes ago, he had been stuttering and stammering about taking his clothes off. Looking at him now, he looked completely in his element – firm muscular arms crossed as they leaned against the edge of the bathtub, an impish grin that was only continuing to grow, and a mischievous gleam behind his eyes that did not make me altogether comfortable.

_ Firm muscular arms, eh?_

DAMN IT HARRY WHAT DID I JUST SAY.

_ Right, sorry._

Having known him as long as I had, I was keenly aware of the risk attached to not moving. So I chose to take my own advice: I closed my eyes, gave myself a good push, and rolled clumsily into a shower of bubbles.

The warmth and buoyancy of the water made my body feel whole again. I could only imagine the relief he must have been feeling. No wonder he was acting so playfully; here in our private sanctuary, it was hard to tell there had ever been a war. It felt like we were kids again, playing in the murky water of the Black Lake and splashing at each other as a form of adolescent flirting. He grinned his adorable, lopsided grin at me and I smiled my cutest, most alluring smile back at him. It was much easier to feel relaxed now that golden bubbles in the shape of ducks were covering up all our most embarrassing bits.

"So," I said, as though returning him to a conversation we'd just had, "you said there was this one time in fourth year – or my third year, I suppose. Wait, wasn't that the year of the Triwizard Cup?"

"The tournament, yeah," he said, pausing only slightly to catch on to what I was talking about. He chuckled vaguely at the memory. "Yeah, it was the part with that horrible golden egg."

"The one you took from that dragon? Hang on, can I just tell you how thrilling that was to watch? I was so scared for you; I remember Hermione reminding me to breathe because she was so sure I was going to faint from holding my breath. Good thing she was there or I probably would have. You have no idea how attractive you were to me then, battling a dragon against other kids who were way older than you. And your flying! I mean, I would probably have gone with a Woollongong Shimmy myself, but what you did – it was spectacular."

"It was improvised," he corrected me modestly. "I've got to tell you, I had no idea what I was doing. It may have looked cool to you, but all I was doing was anything I could to keep that dragon from lighting my ass on fire. Anyway, so I had that egg, only I didn't have a clue what to do with it. Then Cedric suggested a bath."

"I knew he was gay."

The look he gave me was far more upsetting than any verbal admonition. It was a scathing, withering look that somehow also seemed wounded. I now remembered how the tournament had ended, and began to desperately wish I hadn't let my mouth get away from me.

"He – he said I should take the egg with me. And he gave me the password for this bathroom. He was a – a prefect…you know. So I did," he finished lamely. It seemed that my comment had made him falter despite his valiant attempt to ignore it. Guilt rose and throbbed in my throat.

"I'm sorry," I said honestly, sliding over closer to him and placing my hand on his shoulder. "I shouldn't have said that. I can't begin to imagine what that was like – and you were only a kid."

"We're still kids. Ginny…I never meant for any of them to die. Not for me."


	7. Chapter 5

_Harry_

Traumatic experiences can have a strange and unexpected effect on people. My moods were constantly swinging back and forth, like a mighty pendulum of angst and childlike humor. Sometimes I felt like a child on summer holiday, and other times I felt like an old man at a war memorial – and it only took seconds to switch between the two. I imagine it's a lot like being bipolar.

Or female.

_I can think of at least five instances off the top of my head of your having male PMS and I'm not afraid to put them into writing._

My mind was splitting into fifty different directions. There was the physical comfort of the hot bath I was, the throbbing achiness I felt in every muscle in my body, the bodies that were strewn across the floor every time I closed my eyes…and then there was Ginny. Beautiful Ginny, with her long ginger hair sticking to her face and her slender frame carefully treading water in front of me. There was something inviting about the concern written across her face that made me want to gush and tell her everything.

"It's like I died for nothing. Or at least, I think I did…I don't know, it's all so confusing and I was so exhausted that it's hard to remember exactly what happened."

I took a deep breath and resolved to relive, for the second time in two days, that long walk through the Forbidden Forest to face Voldemort. It was the least that she deserved. As I steeled myself to tell the story, she took a washcloth from the pile by the bath and dipped it into the water.

"It was when Voldemort had given that awful ultimatum. I knew that if I didn't surrender myself, he would slaughter every man, woman and child he came across. Voldemort was never one to make empty threats. So I went. I went into that Forest to confront him for what I was sure would be the last time. There was no time to say goodbye to anyone, and anyway, I didn't think I could handle it. I walked past you at one point – you were nursing one of the kids, one of the stupid underage kids who thought – well anyway, I knew that if I stopped to say goodbye to you, I wouldn't be able to go through it. But in a weird way, thinking of you _did _get me through it. At least until I used the Resurrection Stone."

"The what?" I had expected this response. What I hadn't expected was for her to give it while gently scrubbing the filth from my face with the washcloth. She looked deep in concentration as she tried to clean my cuts and bruises without causing me pain. Whether it was because it was truly hard work or because she was trying to patiently listen to my story without interrupting, I'll never know.

_ A little of both, really._

Well okay, I lied – now I know. It makes for better prose to write it this way though, so I'm not changing it!

_ Fine by me._

I winced involuntarily as she rubbed the sore spot on the bridge of my nose where my glasses usually sat. "Do you know what the Deathly Hallows are?"

"No."

"Yeah, neither did I, and nor did Ron or Hermione. Okay, but you know the Tale of the Three Brothers, right? From the Tales of Beetle the Bard?"

"Oh sure, it's about these brothers that meet Death, and he makes them these really powerful objects – "

"Right. Well, those are the Deathly Hallows: the Resurrection Stone, the Elder Wand, and the Cloak of Invisibility. Turns out they're real. I know this because last night, I had all three of them in my possession."

Always the realist, she dropped the cloth away from my face and looked at me, puzzled. "You what? No, they're not real; it's just a story. You were worn out and hadn't slept in days, and you probably just _thought _you had them in your delirium."

It was a lot like the time Hermione insisted that my wand had not acted of its own accord in self-preservation against Voldemort the night that Moody had died. My head was beginning to throb painfully. "Just listen to me, okay? They _are _real. Hermione and Ron will tell you. That Invisibility Cloak has been in my family for generations. How many Cloaks like that do you know of, that last that long and never fade or lose its magic? And the Elder Wand – well, you saw. Voldemort had it, and I took it from him with a simple Disarming spell. _Expelliarmus, _Ginny. That's how I defeated Voldemort. _Expelli – bloody – armus_. So yes, they exist. And so does the Resurrection Stone. Dumbledore left it to me in his will, indirectly – well it's complicated, but the point is that I had it when I was walking to face Voldemort, and I used it. I saw my parents. And Sirius. And – and Lupin. They came out of it and gave me all kinds of encouragement."

Ginny was now gaping at me with her mouth in a perfect O. I wasn't clear on whether she believed me or not, but as the last 17 years had made me completely fagged when it came to convincing people of things, I decided to press on. "Look, I know how it sounds, okay? But I swear to you it happened. And it wasn't a hallucination. What happened afterward, _that _might have been a hallucination. I don't know, it was all sorts of bizarre. But this was real. It definitely wasn't my imagination. My mum and dad and Lupin and Sirius, they were there, in a weird sort of half-physical half-wispy state. Not really ghosts, but more like…I don't know, like a reflection or something. It's hard to describe. But it meant the world to me to have them there as I went to face death."

_ To face death. _It sounded strange coming out of my mouth, knowing that it was true yet scarcely believing I had had the courage to do it. And not in the way I had experienced it in the graveyard in fourth year, or in the Department of Mysteries in fifth: always the possibility of a narrow escape; but confronting it directly and with silent resolve.

To my immense relief, Ginny resumed her almost ritualistic washing of my face and neck. "I believe you," she said, in the quiet tone of voice I had come to associate with awe. "So what happened afterward that was so bizarre?"

"I died. The Death Eaters had tied Hagrid up to a tree, and stood around in a circle and watched Voldemort aim a Killing Curse right at me. All I remember is a lot of green light, and then – "

"Wait, you mean the Curse actually hit you? You didn't narrowly escape and only _pretend _to be dead?"

"No, it definitely hit me. Right here." I patted my chest where my heart kept its steady rhythm. Although her eyebrows lifted in awe and surprise, there was something behind her eyes that looked almost like fear. She started to run her soapy cloth along the length of my arm, gently massaging the muscles as she did so, but I could tell that her sole focus of attention was on my story.

"Well, like I said, I knew Voldemort wouldn't stop unless he had me. And I knew he wouldn't be satisfied, and the war would never end, unless I let him kill me. So I did. There was also part of me that suspected that in dying for everyone that was fighting to protect Hogwarts, I could protect _them_. Like a sacrifice. I did notice that when I came back, none of his spells were lasting. Like that terrible hex he put on the Sorting Hat when he put it on Neville's head. I imagine Neville fought pretty damn hard against that one, but I think the spell just faded because of my sacrifice. Either way, I knew I had to stand firm in front of Voldemort and allow him one well-aimed Killing Curse."

"You must have been terrified," she whispered.

"Like you can't imagine. That's why I was so grateful that my parents and everyone were with me."

_ I'm sorry I doubted you, love. I'm sure they were there; I'm sure you didn't just imagine them out of nowhere. _

Now she began tending to the cuts and sores on my chest in earnest. She picked up her wand from our pile of abandoned clothes and traced patterns all across my front, murmuring under her breath as she did so. I winced and gritted my teeth as I felt my skin and muscles contracting with the healing spells she performed. Despite having had Death Eaters as teachers for nearly a full year, she had managed to get a far better education that I had.

"So that's where it gets strange," I continued. "There was a flash of green light, and then…I was at King's Cross station. With Dumbledore. Only it was completely empty. He said it was like – like a limbo, or something. And we talked and he explained the whole Deathly Hallows and self-sacrifice and Horcruxes thing to me. He said I could choose to return to the living or – or move on, or something. Ginny, I've got to tell you, I was so tired. And my body was so broken. It sounds selfish, but I _welcomed _death. I really, really wanted to die. I knew what I was facing if I decided to come back, and it sounds weird but death looked so warm and safe and inviting. But then I thought of you. And I thought of Ron and Hermione and everyone else who was fighting so hard to save me. Some of them had even died for me. So I came back. I simply decided to come back and – there I was, lying on the ground, back in the Forbidden Forest with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Hagrid was so upset, he – OUCH!"

One of her spells had sent a shocking burning sensation just over my navel. My abdominal muscles twitched in response, which were so sore that I felt a wave of nausea come over me. She anxiously apologized and set her wand back down at the edge of the bath, choosing to continue with her washcloth massage. I knew many of my scars would become permanent if they weren't properly cared for, but I somehow preferred that to being poked and prodded. Hadn't I suffered enough?

_You're absolutely right, I am so sorry I did that._

"It's all right," I told her with a paradoxical groan. "Hey – hey, Ginny. Look at me." There was something about her nervous apologies and meek gestures that I was beginning to find unsettling. I clutched her arms and looked her straight in the eyes. "Are _you _all right?"

"What? Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"You're a terrible liar." I cupped her chin in my hands, softly grazing my thumb across her cheeks. The tracks of her tears were stained in layers of dried mud and grime. "Something else is bothering you, isn't it? Something else besides Fred."

Looking back on it now, it was probably not the kindest way to bring up the subject. I sounded so cold and harsh, even to myself. Being essentially murdered, fighting what looks like a losing battle, and watching so many of your friends and family die has a way of hardening a person to reality. She closed her eyes tightly, but in spite of her apparent effort the tears came spilling out regardless.

"We really thought you were dead, you know," she half-whispered, half-cried. "I really thought you had gone and done something stupid, like surrendering yourself to a homicidal maniac because you thought it would solve everything. You saw him, Harry – he was hungry for blood even after he thought you were out of the way. He wasn't going to stop and it was Dumbledore all over again, wasn't it, dead for nothing, dead because of some stupid noble idea. The two of you!" She smashed her fists into the water, splashing bubbles in every direction.

"Hey, hey it's okay, it's over isn't it? I'm not dead, I'm right here," I said soothingly, pulling her into an embrace. In a strange way, holding her close to me, pressing her head against my heart, gave me more comfort than any of her words could. "We're together now. We get to start over. I don't know what's going to happen or where we're going to go from here, but at least we know that whatever happens, we'll do through it together. No more secrets, okay? From now on, anything you want to know, I'll tell you. I'll tell you everything." I felt her nod against my chest.

"Yeah, no, I know," she said. She pulled herself slowly away to face me and fiercely rubbed her eyes. "I'll be okay. I just…oh Harry, I'm so glad you're alive."

And she flung her arms around my shoulders and kissed me hard on the lips.

I knew she was putting on a brave face for me. I knew that, one day soon, she was going to have to break down completely or explode from holding it all in. But in that moment, kissing her warm naked body in a bath that stayed magically hot, I was content to let her pretend that nothing was wrong.

_ You know, at some point we should probably stop writing fluff and advance the story a bit. It's all right, I'll do it in my next bit._

You've been awfully quiet and kind to me while I wrote this. Sure you don't want to add some last-minute cheek?

_ I'm sure. You've just reminded me of how grateful I am that you're alive and that we're together._


	8. Chapter 6

_Ginny_

It was probably the most amount of time we had ever spent together, just the two of us, locked in isolation. Even though we were both seeing each other in the nude for the very first time, all we did was talk. And talk. And talk. He described to me, in harrowing detail, the journey on which he and Ron and Hermione had embarked to destroy the Horcruxes. He told me about Ron's abandonment halfway through (I clenched my fists in silent rage), their capture and imprisonment inside the Malfoy manor house, and their dramatic heist at Gringtott's. He told me, in heartbreaking detail, about watching Snape die and then proceeding to witness the man's last twenty years' worth of memories.

What he didn't say was anything in the form of a question. Not once did he pause to ask me anything about what Hogwarts had been like in his absence, or how Dumbledore's Army had gotten on without him. I vaguely noticed this at the time, but was so pleased to have him alive and whole before me that I pushed it from my mind.

We talked – or rather, he talked and I listened – for hours. Nearly all the bubbles, magical though they were, had dissipated by the time he yawned and stretched and announced that we ought to be carrying on. As my skin was beginning to shrivel horribly from being in the water for so long, I couldn't disagree. I wondered to myself if he was truly ready to face everyone, all the family and friends of those that had died for him, and found myself feeling immensely protective of him. I couldn't even let him out of the bath without wrapping a towel around him first, the way a mother would around a small child. Fortunately he was now more accepting of my help, and gave me a fond smile as he kissed my cheek in gratitude.

_It was quite adorable, actually. One moment well worth abandoning my masculinity for._

Just the one? Then how do you explain all the others?

_ You're lucky you're pretty._

"So," he said heavily as I helped him pull his arm through his shirtsleeve, "down to the Great Hall then, I guess."

"Probably the best place to start, yeah. Ron and Hermione will be there, you know. Maybe…maybe you don't have to do this _all _by yourself." It came out sounding much more meek than I had intended. Where was the fiery redhead that had been so good at keeping his anger in check all these years?

He shook his head and stared off into the distance somewhere over my left shoulder. "No, it's not – I mean, I'm the Chosen One, aren't I? All those people that died – they died for me. For _me, _to protectme_. _I should at least have the decency to thank their families in person."

For the first of many more times to come, I gently corrected him. "I don't think they necessarily died for _you. _I think they gave up their lives fighting for the same cause you were: freedom from repression. I think you just gave them a strong, indomitable personality to rally around, you know?"

"I guess."

His desire to disagree was painfully obvious.

"Well, either way," he continued, feigning placidity and reaching over to help me button up my blouse, "I should talk to them personally. Or at least _be _there. Ignoring them like this and then skipping out altogether just doesn't feel like the right thing to do, I'm sorry. It's bad enough I did that when Dumbledore died."

It had to be the most caustic yet somehow coldest way he had ever spoken to me. My insides turned to ice at the mere sound of it. This was not how I wanted to start our relationship, not after months of absence. He turned sharply on his heels to leave, but I hurried to grab his elbow first.

"Hey, no – I'm sorry," I said quickly, "you're right. It wouldn't be fair. Come to think of it, Dumbledore always gave us a great speech whenever something happened. It always made us feel more connected, like we were all standing together. It's probably just what we need right now." I dropped my voice and made sure his eyes met mine. "He'd be really proud of you, you know."

For a moment, I didn't know if he was going to rush out or collapse to the floor.

_For a moment, neither did I._

He shifted his weight almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other as though considering his options. Then he relaxed his shoulders, dropped his arm, and slipped his hand into mine.

"Thanks."

It was the sort of connection that's difficult to put into words. Most people just say "you had to be there". There was something distinctly more meaningful in what we'd said than simply a compliment and its acceptance. There was a pause, an understanding, a private knowledge that only of the two of us could hope to share. On this note we returned to the Great Hall, hand in hand with the Invisibility Cloak safely stored inside my robes.

Before I could get a proper sense of who was there and what the overall mood was, we

were tackled by someone – a half-maniacal, bushy red haired someone.

"_!_" my mother positively screeched into my ear, throwing her arms around me so forcefully that I nearly toppled over backward. I could feel the dampness of her tears against my neck. Partially for her benefit and partially for mine, I hugged her as tightly as I could, struggling to maintain my composure. There was a childlike comfort in being in her arms, and I have to confess to some reluctance when she let me go to take a good long look at Harry.

The trouble was, _everyone _was taking a good long look at Harry.

Distracted by my mother's sudden embrace, I hadn't noticed the awed hush that had fallen over the Great Hall the instant we walked in. Harry, because he had expected it or perhaps because he was accustomed to such things, had certainly noticed. The hard squeeze he had given my hand now made sense.

"Mrs. Weasley," he said, grabbing her shoulders in a gesture reminiscent of a man twice his age, "I am so sorry. Everyone…I am really, really sorry for your losses."

It was a moment straight out of Shakespeare. Harry turned and faced all those eyes that were staring at him. He held his chin high, squared his shoulders, and spoke with cool, steady confidence – all the while with his hand pressed subtly against the small of my back.

"I never meant for this to happen," he said. He spoke softly, almost for fear of his voice breaking, but the silence in the Hall was so penetrating that it hardly mattered. "I never meant for anyone to die. Not for me. I fought against Voldemort time and time again, putting my own life at risk, so that no one else would have to. The courage and loyalty that you have all shown me tonight – I can't begin to thank you for that. Many of you know that Dumbledore left a job for me to do. I can now tell you that that job is finished. Voldemort is beyond dead. He has been completely destroyed. He can't come back. His Dea – his followers have all either been killed or sent into hiding. We will hunt down any that are left until they have all been properly taken care of. It's over; it's all over. The only question now is…where do we go from here?

"I don't know. None of us knows. There are lots of things that are broken and need to be fixed, from the walls of this castle to the deep insides of our hearts. But I promise you, we will fix them. The pain that we all feel right now is only temporary. The wounds will heal. It will take time, but I swear things will get better. We've hit dead bottom, so the only place we can go from here is up."

Here he faltered. I heard his voice waver as he chuckled in spite of himself. "I'm sorry," he said thickly, "I'm not very good at this. Dumbledore was always the great speechmaker. If he were here…well, I think he would tell us to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and take solace in the fact that we can make a fresh start. And make some sort of light-hearted joke. He was always really good for that. He'd probably tell us something really encouraging too, like that he believed in us and trusted us to do the right thing. Or something like that, I don't know. All I wanted to say was thank you for everything you've done for me, and that if you're feeling hurt or alone or scared…you're not alone. But that's exactly what we should take comfort in: the fact that we're not alone. I don't know where to go from here, but what I do know is that, wherever we go, we'll go together."

It was my miniature speech of consolation practically verbatim. A very small part of me was bitter about him pretending that my words were his own. The larger, more dominant part of me understood that he was trying to reassure the room with the same words that had reassured _him, _and that was what really mattered.

Once he had finished speaking, there was a smattering of applause mixed with idle murmurs of satisfaction. I found it perfectly understandable. After all, how else do you react to a 17-year-old boy who has just saved the world as you know it?

_Oh, I think a good "thanks very much" would do. But that's just me._

A dark hand clapped onto Harry's shoulder from behind, and a deep, calming male voice spoke. "That's right, Harry. We're all in this together. Perhaps it's time you let _us _take the reins for a while." It was Kingsley, the tall black man that was one of the few surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix. He nodded toward a table where my father, brothers, and a handful of remaining teachers were holding counsel. Several layers of parchment lay in disarray between them, and a number of quills were busily scratching down notes.

"Yeah mate, maybe you should take your own advice for once." Ron and Hermione, now quite inseparable, had ambled up to us with something like pride on their faces. Hermione's face was glistening as she beamed at the two of us. As I credited her in large part for bringing Harry and me together, I couldn't resist smiling back.

"That was a very good speech, Harry. You've done brilliantly," she said. "And you're looking much better." Over his shoulder I saw her mouth the words _thank you _to me.

As we stood there, the four of us surrounded by packs of adults and their families, I began to feel somewhat resentful. Why had Dumbledore put so much pressure on _us _to defeat Voldemort when there were a dozen grown witches and wizards that could have done the job? Why had he entrusted the fate of the wizarding world to a small band of teenagers? I understood well enough why Harry had to be the one to bring about Voldemort's final downfall, but why couldn't Dumbledore send the Order of the Phoenix out to destroy the Horcruxes? Hadn't Harry been through enough? I started to wonder whether Dumbledore really had told Harry not to tell anyone about the Horcruxes, or whether Harry had come to that conclusion out of his own foolish pride. A fist seemed to clench itself tightly around my heart.

"Ginny, did you hear me?"

Harry's voice pulled me from my silent rage. The four of us were now alone in our tight circle; Mum and Kingsley had gone to join the rest of the Order in their planning, and everyone else seemed preoccupied with their own personal regrouping. Harry was looking at me expectantly, and I was forced to admit that I hadn't been listening.

"Ron was just saying that they're going to go find Hermione's parents to reverse the Memory Charm she'd put on them. I want to go with them. Will you come with me?"


	9. Chapter 7

_Harry_

"Off again? Are you _mental?_"

The one thing I've always loved about Ginny is her brutal honesty. It's usually pretty obvious that she's allowed her thoughts to escape from her mouth before she's had time to think them through properly. A light flickers behind her eyes and she purses her lips a bit as she reconsiders herself. She'll pause, shake her head with frustration, and try to explain herself. Often times I find it charming and adorable.

This was not one of those times.

I stared at her slightly agape, certain that I had misheard.

_Well what did you think I was going to say? "Thanks for stopping by, see you in a few months, don't forget to write"? Or perhaps "Sure, my family is grieving, but it's totally fine if I ditch them to go with you on another potentially perilous journey?"_

Perilous? It's Australia! Did you think we were going to be run over by a pack of rabid kangaroos or something?

_Don't be stupid, I – oh just tell them what I said. _

She sighed heavily and said, this time more calmly, "Look, I understand why Hermione wants to go, and I get why you don't want to be separated. But for god's sake Harry, we've just fought a bloody _war. _Can't you let yourself breathe for two minutes before you go running off on your next great adventure?"

"Right, because this was all just some _adventure. _It's been just like Boy Scouts, hasn't it, telling stories round the campfire and eating sweets until four in the morning. Suppose next you'll be telling me that I didn't have to fight Voldemort, after all; that I only did it because I was looking for honor or – or glory or something."

I couldn't help it.

_Bet you could._

The sound of the word "adventure" dragged up awful memories of Snape accusing Sirius of being thrill-seeking to a fault. Regardless of what she'd actually said or intended, in my mind all I heard was Ginny condemning me for living dangerously and putting everyone's lives at risk just for kicks. There is a possibility that I was being hypersensitive, I'll admit. I was still feeling broken and weak in spite of Ginny's best efforts, and the only comfort I wanted was to be with her and my two best mates. Going abroad with just the three of them for company sounded like a genuine holiday.

"That's not what I meant and you know it." She folded her arms across her chest and looked at me as though trying to stare me down. While Hermione looked on nervously, Ginny sounded almost exasperated.

_I was. Sometimes you can be so stubborn. I just don't know what I'm going to do with you._

Oh, I bet I can think of a few things.

_HARRY._

Right, plot line. Sorry.

"You know, for someone with so little concern for his own well-being, you can be so _defiant." _The corner of her mouth started to twitch. "All I'm saying is, you had better slow down before you run yourself into the ground. I didn't mind listening to you babble in your sleep – "

"OI," Ron interrupted, his eyebrows knitted furiously.

"- but if you think I'm going to sit around and wait for you to lose your mind and babble while you're _awake _– "

"_Come on,_" Ron howled, "I don't need to hear the details about you two sleeping together or…or whatever…it is that – that you're doing."

He cowered under a withering look from Hermione. Although I could practically hear her telling him he was being a hypocrite, I understood his desire to not want it discussed. It would be wonderful to get out of the country for a little while with them, but I was beginning to realize how awkward it might become.

Not that anything was ever awkward for Ginny.

_That's for damn certain._

Even when she was angry with me, she never lost her sense of humor. The mischievous glint in her eyes caused my rush of anger to deflate almost immediately. It was much easier to be reasonable with her than it was to be with Hermione, for example – and that's saying something.

"Oh please, like the two of you haven't ever shared a bunk before," she said, rolling her eyes at her brother. "Anyway, Harry, all I'm saying is that maybe you oughtn't go rushing off just yet. You either, Ron. I think we should all go home with Mum and Dad, just regroup for a bit, you know? Get our heads on straight before we try to do anything. Hermione, you'll come too of course."

Asking me to stay in one place for an extended period of time, for _any _reason, was like asking a Dementor to be cheerful. I opened my mouth to protest, but Hermione heaved a great sigh and I realized everyone's eyes were on her. As they were _her _parents we would be searching for, it did feel rude not to consider her opinion. She was staring hard at the floor and frowning with a look of concentration I had always associated with exams.

"I don't know," she said, "I actually think you might be right. Wandering away from everyone, after everything that's happened…it just feels so _wrong._ Maybe we ought to go back to the Burrow – just for a couple days, Harry! – and recuperate before we set off again. Anyway, we ought to be together right now." She gave a meaningful look to Ron and Ginny, who themselves exchanged glances. No one said it but I could hear it as well as if they had:

"We ought to be home for Fred's funeral."

The very thought of spending several days at the Weasleys' preparing for a funeral made me anxious. I felt restless and uneasy, like I was on the doorstep of another huge battle and there was nothing I could do about it. They could tell me to slow down and relax all they wanted, but the one good thing about fighting Voldemort directly had been the feeling of doing something. This, this waiting around and trying to figure out what to do next, felt too much like searching for Horcruxes all over again. I felt like I was back in the Forest of Dean, keeping the night watch and waiting for something to happen.

_We've really got to get you a Muggle gaming console of some sort. I bet those months would have gone by much more quickly if you'd had a Nintendo DS._

The four of us silently agreed and joined the table where the remaining Order members were mulling over paperwork. Occasionally someone would walk past to shake my hand and thank me, or hug me fiercely with tears streaming down their cheeks. Neville made his way over and stayed by us for quite some time, not really speaking but listening avidly. The sword of Gryffindor was firmly attached to his belt loop as a sort of trophy. There were so many things I wanted to say to him. I wanted to thank him for keeping Dumbledore's Army strong in my absence. I wanted to know the details of all the things he had done to keep everyone safe. I wanted to tell him how proud I was that he stood up to Voldemort and destroyed the last Horcrux even when the war seemed lost. For one of the very few times in my life, I found myself too choked up to speak. When we at last made eye contact, I realized that he felt precisely the same way. We shared a half-grin between us that, in the half-second it took, clarified everything that had been left unsaid.

Then there were those words no one wanted to say. Voldemort. Horcrux. Even Kingsley stuttered when he explained that we would have to find a systematic way of tracking down the Death Eaters that might still have questionable loyalties. Never in my life had I ever hesitated to say Voldemort's name, which had almost put our lives in jeopardy more than once. Now I was beginning to understand why, sixteen years ago, the entire wizarding community had taken to calling him You-Know-Who. For our part, it wasn't out of fear, exactly. It was more that it felt like a dirty word, like it was an insult to the memory of those that had died. Like rubbing salt into a cankerous wound. It would take years before any of us could do more than silently mouth the word _Horcrux._

After one more meal together, when the sun was beginning to dip into the western sky and nearly everyone had made their way home, it came time to return to the Burrow. I barely managed a few swallows of steak-and-kidney pie, and only because Ginny had virtually crammed them down my throat.

"Remember how we first found out that house elves were doing all the cooking here?" I said distantly, poking at the flaky crust so that all the gravy came oozing out.

"You mean because of S.P.E.W.? Yeah, 'course I remember." It was mildly difficult to understand Ron with his cheeks crammed with food. "It was a good try, 'mione, but it would probably've gone over better if it didn't sound so much like spitting up."

"What, you mean like what you're doing right now?" The look on her face as she watched him eat was a mixture of disgust and, oddly enough, a sort of fondness. It was, after all, Ron's concern for the welfare of the Hogwarts house-elves that had finally brought them together. Hermione was unlikely to forget that in a hurry. In any case, it was probably the nicest thing Ron had ever said about her charity organization.

It was a strangely lonely feeling, listening to the two of them talk so easily while I was lost in thoughts of visiting Dobby in the castle's kitchen and all the delicious meals that Kreacher had made for us in Grimmauld Place. Ginny was beside me, but she hadn't experienced all those things with me. Ron and Hermione had, but they were chatting idly as though it were just another End of Term feast. I glanced around the table to see if anyone looked as out of place as I felt and noticed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley rising from the table.

"Well, we'd best be off," said Mrs. Weasley. Bill, Charlie, Percy and George had already started to follow suit. She waved her hand at our small group. "Ron, Harry, Hermione? Come along, then," she beckoned.

"What about Dad and Kingsley? Where are they off to?" Ron demanded, pointing in the direction of two figures that were making their way across the room and conversing conspiratorially. I sprang to my feet as though an alarm had sounded. My hand flew to the wand still snugly in my pocket. There was comfort in the feel of the warm holly wood that had served me so faithfully over the years.

The reaction I got from Mrs. Weasley was almost laughable. One hand rested on her hip and she tilted her head to the side, regarding me as one would someone who had just made a terrible joke. "Just off to find the Malfoys, no need to worry, dear."

"The _Malfoys? '_No need to worry' – Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry, but have you any idea what that family put us through? If Draco and his bastard father are out there, and no one knows where they are – the danger – you can't imagine – _what are we even still doing here?_"

They tell me I was screaming at top volume. I wasn't conscious of the sound of my voice or even what words I was speaking.

_There's a first._

All I knew was that my heart was racing so quickly that I could hear it thrumming in my ear. The only thing that seemed half as terrifying as Voldemort returning was the Malfoys running all about England unchecked. It took Ginny pulling my wrists behind my back and Ron bracing my shoulders to keep me from running after Kingsley and Mr. Weasley. A few heads had turned to see what I was going on about, but I disregarded them.

"I'm sure they're well acquainted with the hazards involved. We've been fighting this war an awfully long time, Harry. This is nothing new to us. Besides, it's not just them. They're only going to set up a perimeter, and then they'll be home with us."

As she had always been keen on giving us as little information as possible, I wondered if she was telling us this for our benefit or her own. It suddenly struck me that I was not the only one who was concerned for Mr. Weasley. For the time being, I decided to let the matter drop. I could investigate it more later, when I had time to sit and scheme with Ron and Hermione and perhaps now even Ginny, who relaxed her hold on me once she realized I was no longer struggling against her.

"Come on now," Mrs. Weasley said on a long exhale, both hands outstretched. "Let's get home."


	10. Chapter 8

_Ginny_

If I had to describe Harry in a single word, it would be "restless". He spent the next couple of days prowling about the house and jumping at loud noises. There was one particularly memorable incident when Crookshanks went screeching past and Harry shrieked at such a pitch that Ron came running, convinced Hermione was in trouble.

_Look, Voldemort has aimed the Killing Curse at me no less than five times, once with success. My apologies if I'm a bit skittish._

The first day back at the Burrow, he crept quietly down hallways, peered around corners, and refused to relinquish his tight grasp on his wand. This was extremely problematic, as he'd developed the troubling habit of jinxing anything that caught him by surprise. After being on the receiving end of his Jelly-Legs Jinx one too many times, George managed to wrest Harry's wand out of his hands and stuff it under his mattress for good measure.

Harry then spent three hours in a panicked paranoia that involved the shattering of some very expensive china, at which point we reluctantly returned his wand to him.

On the evening before the funeral, Ron came up with a brilliant idea.

"Hey, why don't we get out our brooms and play some Quidditch? You and Hermione against me and Ginny, that way it's fair. It'll be good to toss the old Quaffle around for a bit, don't you think?"

Harry, who had been staring blankly out of the window at the rising moon, started. "Sorry? Oh – yeah, yeah all right."

He hadn't heard a single word that Ron had said and I knew it.

"Just wish I knew what Mum and Dad did with our broomsticks," Ron added wistfully. Hermione rolled her eyes, though she was clearly trying not to laugh.

"You've got to be about the worst wizard I've ever – _Accio Broomsticks!" _she said, flinging out her wand arm and trying so hard to seem impatient that she smacked Ron hard under his nose. It came as a kind of relief to hear Ron yelping and Hermione apologizing; it was a distinct return to normalcy.

Once I was in the air, I started to feel wholly better. The warm weather that had been hinting at summer lasted through twilight, so that even once the twinkling stars made their appearance, it felt cool and comfortable to soar through the sky. We played above the orchard so as to have the trees for cover and were careful not to fly too high, perhaps more careful than usual. The Muggles that lived in the village beyond now seemed closer than ever. We also chose to nix the presence of a Snitch. It seemed insensitive, given Harry's experience a few days previously, and as we were playing two-a-side it made no logistical sense. It took Harry some time to adjust to playing something other than Seeker, but this was entertainment in itself: he would dive harder than was necessary to catch a fumbled toss from Ron, or race toward me when the Quaffle was in my possession as though trying to knock it out of my hands. Once I "accidentally" smacked him hard in the temple with it in order to get him to calm down. I deliberately let him chase me halfway around the orchard to seek his revenge, hoping it would help him release some of his nervous energy.

_Oh sure, it had nothing to do with the fact that you were scared I would catch you._

A Weasley is never scared. On guard perhaps, or even appropriately cautious, but never scared.

_Right._

After a few rounds, when the charm on our tattered Quaffle started to fade and it began to wander further and further toward the village, we descended and settled ourselves under a vast sloping dogwood tree. Harry propped himself against the trunk and invited me to join him. Never one to say no to his affections, I gave no second thought to lying my head against his knee and sprawling out on the soft grass.

"What a lovely night to be outside," said Hermione thoughtfully, looping her arm around Ron's elbow and glancing up at the inky night sky. "Just think, usually about this time we'd be studying feverishly for exams."

"Not likely," Ron snorted. "Harry and me'd probably be at Quidditch practice about now. Ah, I can picture it now: we'd come into the common room, all cheery and out of breath, and plop ourselves down by the fire. Then we'd see you, surrounded by books. Actually, I'd probably ask you to leave because you were distracting us from a relaxing evening. All your studying always did stress us out, you know."

There was a dreamy, faraway look in his Ron's eyes, while Hermione was staring at him as though he had just sprouted the horn of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack. This time it was her turn to snort with incredulity. "Right, sorry about that. Of course, you do realize that if you asked me to leave, I'd take my notes with me."

"Sort of the point, yeah."

"Well, you know what that means, don't you? They wouldn't be there for you to copy from. You know you only barely managed to scrape by with the O.W.L.s you did because of me."

"Yeah, well…"

As was often the case, Harry stepped in to diffuse the tension. "Well I for one am effing _thrilled _not to have to take N.E.W.T.s this year. Can you imagine having to study for them under the conditions, you know, with the Carrows and all? I was already dead awful at Transfiguration. That pair would have, I don't know, given me twelve ears or a horse's tail or something, and told me to figure it out."

"It wasn't easy, I'll tell you that."

The silence was, as they say, deafening. Part of me choked down a caustic "Yeah that's right, while you were off on your little quest, I was standing up to Voldemort from the inside."

_LITTLE QUEST? Are you MAD?_

The other, more reasonable part of me figured we had all had our share of sacrifices in the name of resistance. Watching Hermione unconsciously tug her shirtsleeve over the scars on her arm was a sober reminder.

_Well good. Glad something brought you round._

"You want to try studying for all your career N.E.W.T.s when they've added Muggle Studies and Dark Arts as compulsory classes, I'll tell you what," I told three very attentive faces. "Just damned lucky those bastards weren't teaching anything I actually needed. Not that Muggle Studies was anything like you think, not with them teaching. It was all about how to recognize them by their deformed faces and how to protect yourself from them stealing your magic or something, I'm not even sure, I skipped that class a lot to meet up with the rest of the D.A. Neville sort of took it over when you left, Harry. You'd be really proud. You all would. I don't even think you would have recognized him. He even mouthed off to Snape a good bit. Took a while, but once the Carrows started using the Cruciatus Curse as punishment…something in him snapped. He was like this whole different person – well, you saw. He kept saying you'd come back. He had total faith in you. We all did."

I gave his hand a light squeeze. It would probably have been better not to bring up the subject at all, as I realized when he started to slip back into his melancholy. But the looks on their faces when I reminded them that I had been at Hogwarts all along were too inviting. Harry too seemed curious, even now as he toyed with a leave of grass between his fingertips.

"Well," he said with a deep and deliberate sigh, "I have no intention of going back. As far as I'm concerned, I've already learned everything I need to know. Not all education comes from books."

Predictably, Hermione twitched uncomfortably. "Now that may be true, but I don't think it would be a _total _waste to finish school. Books saved our lives. Where do you think I learned all those protective enchantments we used, and the healing spells? Not to mention if it hadn't been for my reading Tales of Beedle the – "

"Oh right, because you wouldn't have read it anyway." To my relief, Harry was grinning knowingly at Hermione. "Putting a book in front of you and expecting you not to read it is like expecting Ron's dad not to play with spark plugs. It's the one thing in my life that's always made sense."

Before Ron could interrupt – presumably to question what spark plugs were – I spoke up. "Either way, I'm definitely going back," I said defiantly, tossing my hair out of my eyes and glaring at the three of them as though daring them to argue.

_Oh, I know better than to pick a fight with you by now._

Yes, it's all "yes dear"s and "as you like"s with you, isn't it?

_Yes dear._

"Do you think they'll even reopen the school? I mean, they nearly shut it down when Myrtle died, and that was one girl. We blew half the castle apart. That's a lot of work, and with everything else that's going on…" Ron trailed off. He made a good point; there were families that needed to be mended before the castle could even be considered.

At the same time, the thought of a full year without Charms class and Quidditch practice and Hogwarts ghosts was positively gloomy.

"I think they will, yeah," I said. "I overheard some of the teachers talking over dinner. McGonagall is probably going to retire – not that I blame her – but I heard they asked _Slughorn _to be Headmaster, if you can believe it. He turned it down, thank goodness, but rumor is that Flitwick might take the job. None of them seem too keen on leaving their posts. You can understand, I mean, it's their careers isn't it? It's their whole lives. Besides, Hogwarts has been around for a million years – "

"Just over a thousand, actually." Hermione looked more surprised than we did. "Oh _honestly, _am I the only one who's ever actually _read _Hogwarts, A History?"

"Yes," came the resounding chorus. Subdued, she sank back against the grass.

"Well, I'm with Harry on this one," Ron said.

"Big surprise there."

"No, seriously. What's the point in going back? Sit a bunch of exams to prove what we already know? I bet the Ministry would let us walk right into the Auror office like we owned the place, tests or no tests. We defeated _Voldemort_ – what are they going to do, tell us we're not qualified?"

"Like to see them try!" Harry exclaimed with a laugh. "I'd have their knickers up their backside before they got two words out!"

"That doesn't even make – look," Hermione interjected, "_you _never mastered non-verbal spells and you, Ron, can't even remember the basic laws of Elemental Transfiguration. How you expect to stroll into the Ministry and say, 'Yes, I'll have a job, please' I'll never know."

"Suppose us girls will have to graduate and take care of you boys, as always," I said, adding a dreamy sigh of resignation for effect. Hermione giggled and Harry poked me hard in the ribs.

We passed the rest of the evening speculating on who would play in the next Quidditch World Cup and whether the Weird Sisters would, in fact, be breaking up. When the moon had reached its zenith and the air started to give us chills, we decided it was time to make our way back into the house. Everyone was fast asleep and the lights were all out by the time we got there.

As if by some unspoken agreement, we parted ways at the stairs: I brought Harry into my bedroom and Ron took Hermione into his and not one of us said a single word.


	11. Chapter 9

_Harry_

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking, "Did they finally hook up? Did they ever hook up at school? Are Harry and Ginny still virgins? Is Harry as much an animal in bed as he seems?"

_Hardly._

Or maybe not. Maybe you're thinking, "They're both good kids, and they're finally together after having spent so many long months apart. They probably stayed up the whole rest of the night talking and catching up."

As it turns out, it was neither of the above.

Ginny had had her bed magically enlarged so as to make it comfortable enough for the both of us to share. The trouble with this was, as soon as our heads hit the pillows, we were fast asleep. For the second of two nights in a row, I fell asleep in my clothes. It was something I regretted when I woke to pains in every muscle where a zipper or a tight crease or seam had been.

It was, however, the first time I had ever seen Ginny sleep beside me. I eased her head carefully off my shoulder and paused to watch the steady rising and falling of her chest with each breath. I've never been the romantic type. Everyone knows I'm the bloke that says, "Watching someone sleep? That's not romance, that's stalking!" But as I've said before, tragedy has an interesting effect on people. Seeing so many people fall dead in front of me was starting to make me numb to the very concept. I was slowly coming to accept that no one ever stays in your life forever. Eventually you will lose them, and there's nothing you can do about it.

In spite of all that, I was growing desperately attached to Ginny. Somehow, in the very dark reaches of my subconscious, I had convinced myself that she was the one person who would never leave me, who _could _never leave me. I had convinced myself that she was immune to death. It looks stupid in writing. It sounds even worse when you say it out loud. But there it is. Ron and Hermione might leave me at some point – Ron certainly did, anyway – but Ginny was always there, would always be there.

That was why I felt so calm and relaxed watching her. She looked sweet lying on the pillow with her brilliant red hair cascading over her face, but it was gentle rhythm of her breath that I found comforting. It was an affirmation of life, a visual confirmation that she hadn't left me. I tucked a loose bit of hair behind her ear and cupped her cheek in my hand. As my fingers grazed down to her neck, I felt the subtle _thrum, thrum, thrum _of her heartbeat and smiled to myself.

_So basically you're saying you're in love with me because I have a pulse._

Basically.

_Charming._

You know it.

Apparently I had woken quite a bit earlier than most everyone in the house. I had a quick wash, changed my clothes, and wandered down to the kitchen, feeling better rested than I had in days. There were no clocks on the walls in the Weasley home, not conventional ones anyway. My favorite clock, the one with several hands each bearing the faces of a member of the family, was perched securely over the sink. They had all come to rest on "HOME". The hand that had shown Fred's face was mercifully absent.

When I walked into the room, only Mr. Weasley was there, his balding head barely visible above the top of his newspaper. I was looking at a large photograph of myself that took up nearly the entire front of page. The headline read: "HARRY POTTER DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO" and, in smaller letters underneath, "The Chosen One Saves Us All".

I was pleased to see my photo looking uncomfortable and edging its way toward the frame.

"Morning Mr. Weasley," I mumbled as I filled the tea kettle. Okay, so maybe I wasn't as awake as I'd thought. Nothing a good pot of strong tea wouldn't fix.

Mr. Weasley peered over his newspaper and, when his eyes rested on me, he gave a tired half-grin and set the paper down on the table. "Morning Harry. Sleep okay?"

"Okay. You?"

"All right."

There was no use pretending our conversation wasn't strained. In just a few short hours, a coffin containing the body of his dead son would be on display on the front lawn. I had just emerged from the bedroom of his only daughter, and I was pretty sure he knew it. Plus I had essentially whisked away his youngest son for months on end, leaving him with not so much as a whisper of his son's whereabouts. If Mr. Weasley didn't completely hate me by now, I would've been surprised.

"Been quite a lot of talk about you down at the Ministry, you know."

I stopped fixing my tea to turn around and look at him properly. My heart was throbbing painfully in my throat. "About me?"

"Yes. As you know, we're in the process of a massive overhaul. It's a big project," he said, smoothing down the crease in the middle of the paper, probably to avoid looking at me. "Everyone that was there was either in league with You-Know-Who or – or is dead. Most of the Order is gone now. We're badly understaffed, and we were thinking…well, we could use your help. Not right away, of course. I'll understand if you need time to adjust to everything that's happened. And we're not asking you to be Minister of Magic or anything; I think we've got that all sorted out. But the Department of Magical Law Enforcement could certainly use a hand. We could train you up a bit, you know, get you in line with all the proper procedures and things. Obviously I understand if you don't want to do it, it is an awfully big job and with all that you've been through – "

"I'd love to." The words were out of my mouth before I had the chance to think about them. "Honest, I would. When can I start?"

Mr. Weasley smiled at me with something that looked very much like tender affection. It reminded me of the expression on Dumbledore's face when I had seen him in that strange state of unconsciousness, or the way my parents had looked at me when their ghostly figures had immerged from the ring. I blinked hard as my thoughts caught up with me. This war was definitely breaking down my sanity. No wonder Dumbledore had been a bit off his rocker.

_You haven't lost your mind, love._

Oh…well, thanks.

_You can't lose something you never had to start with._

Isn't that the baby I hear crying?

_Nope, just you._

Oh for the love of – you know, that was actually pretty good. Impressive. I can't even be angry with you for that one. Well done.

_Aren't you glad you married me?_

More every day.

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to say more, but the sudden appearance of Ron and Hermione stopped him. It seemed best to drop the subject, at least for now. Hermione immediately slipped into Mrs. Weasley's usual role and set to work preparing breakfast, at which Ron and I shared appreciative glances. I was glad Ginny was still in bed; no doubt she would accused us of brazen chauvinism.

_I would indeed. Just because she's a woman, she has to do all the cooking? Glad _our _marriage wasn't based on that sort of misogynistic dragon dung._

But you _do _do all the cooking.

_Not the point._

Right.

Once we were all fed, washed and dressed, we headed outside to see if we could help with any of the arrangements. To our surprise, a good number of people were already scattered about the front lawn, hard at work. Rows of plain white folding chairs had been set up in front of a simple altar littered with an assortment of flowers. The petals caught the sunlight in such a way as to make them look as though they were exploding with color. Even the sky was an exceptional shade of blue. If it hadn't been for the casket at the center, it would have been a lovely effect.

It seemed as though everyone had turned up for the occasion, including Hagrid and Luna and even Professor McGonagall, who joked in a sad sort of way about how she missed throwing him out of her classroom. Luna drifted dreamily through the crowds, looking as always as if she had some sort of secret. She announced in a voice louder than necessary that she and her father would be going abroad that summer and she had no intention whatsoever of finishing school. For all her faults, I couldn't help cheering her on for her brave flouting of social norms. Meanwhile, Hagrid had foregone the reinforced chair set aside for him and crashed down hard on the ground, looking withdrawn and sullen. Hermione sat beside him and aggressively tried to engage him in conversation. It wasn't like Hagrid to be so quiet and reserved; in fact, it was deeply unnerving.

I felt unsettled and anxious and took to wandering about in an effort to calm myself down. The only person whose company I wanted was Ginny's, and she and the rest of her family had shut themselves off in a tight circle. Not that I could blame them; it was a funeral for their son and brother and cousin and nephew, after all.

A small, elderly wizard ran the ceremony, one who bore an uncanny resemblance to the wizard that had presided over Dumbledore's funeral. I half-expected to see merpeople emerge from the edge of the yard, or a centaur shoot a flaming arrow into the sky. Gradually I came to realize that of all those I'd known that had died, Dumbledore had been the only one that had received a proper service. As I sat listening to the wizard up front drone on about continuation of life through memories or some other such nonsense, I thought about my parents, and Sirius, and Lupin, and Mad-Eye, and that stupid Creevey boy who had dived thoughtlessly into battle. Angry tears spilled into my lap and I didn't bother to wipe them away. It may have been a farewell service to Fred Weasley, but at the same time it felt like a memorial for everyone that had died in the war against Voldemort. Looking around, I realized that I probably wasn't the only one to feel that way. The fact that so many people had come to pay their respects suddenly made sense.

The instant it was acceptable to get to our feet, I bounded out of my chair and made a beeline for Ginny – not because I needed her, but because I suspected she might need me. Sure enough, when I reached her, I saw her trying to console a devastated George through shimmering tears of her own. The Weasleys welcomed me into their circle as if I were one of their own. I felt deeply moved by this, acutely aware that they had always given me the impression that I belonged to their bizarre yet cozy wizarding family. As apathetic towards death as I had become, they caught me up in their mourning and it wasn't long before I was sobbing with the rest of them.

While I stood in that circle, looking around at the grief etched across everyone's faces, I felt my hands ball into fists. Bitter, resentful anger coursed through me so quickly that my head started to ache. This was not my fault. The blame lay with Riddle, and with all those witches and wizards he had brought under his influence. Many of them – even and especially the Malfoys – were still at large. I found this utterly unacceptable, moreso when I saw George bend himself double over his brother's casket and exclaim that half of him was dead and gone forever. My eyes met Ginny's and I knew she knew what I was thinking.

_I'm going to fix this. I'm going to make it right. _


	12. Chapter 10

_Ginny_

After Dumbledore's funeral, Harry had taken my hand and with a hard, stoic look announced that we could no longer be together. "It's for some stupid, noble reason, isn't it?" I had asked. Of course it was. He'd tried to convince me that I would be putting myself in danger by continuing to be associated with him in any way. "What if I don't care?" I had said. But it didn't matter. The expression on his face was fixed and resolute. There was no changing his mind.

It was with that same look that he slipped his fingers between mine and gave my hand a rough squeeze. I noticed that his other hand was in such a tight fist that his knuckles were turning white. Both hands were shaking.

"Harry – "

I'm not sure what I had intended to follow that with. A desperate plea for him not to go, or a warning about how perilous it would be to go chasing after murderous villains? Anything I could have said would have been futile, regardless. Anyway, it made no difference. At the sound of his name, he turned on his heels and walked straight toward a crowd of Ministry officials whom I only recognized by the tall presence of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

No one else saw him immerse himself into that crowd. My mouth was hanging slightly open, but that could have been easily construed as funereal shock. Only when Hermione had slipped her way between myself and Ron, her arms hugging both of us around our waists, did I come to my senses.

"Hermione, he's gone."

"I know, I'm so sorry – "

"No, not Fred – Harry. He's gone to join the hunt for the Death Eaters. I saw him sneak into that Ministry group over there and I know that's what he's up to, I just know it."

"What?"

To my relief, I saw my feelings of confusion and concern written across her face. I wanted to say, "We've got to stop him" but decided not to waste the time on words. Instead I made the same move as Harry: I whirled around without thinking and marched toward the gathering of deliberating wizards.

Subtlety has never been my strong suit. I grabbed Harry's elbow with both hands and yanked him away so forcefully that he cried out in pain. "OUCH! Damn it Ginny, _what is it?" _There was a clear tone of irritation in his voice, and I suppose I could have been gentler with war-weary body, but I had something to say and I demanded it be heard. At the same time, what I lacked in subtlety, I made up for in discretion. This was, after all, neither the time nor the place for a public argument. I tried to tug him away and keep my voice low.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" I hissed under my breath, glancing around to make sure we weren't overheard. Whatever my feelings on the subject, I was well aware that Harry would eventually be working with a good number of these men, and it would be unfair to embarrass him in front of them. He, of course, had a different idea.

"What does it look like?" he said sharply. He pushed my hand away and rubbed at the part of his arm I had grabbed. "I'm fixing what I've broken. Robards is putting together a specialty task force to smoke the remaining Death Eaters out of hiding, and I'm joining it."

It was exactly what I had expected, though I was still unnerved by it. I shifted my weight nervously from one foot to the other and began to plead with him, all the while gesturing toward a more secluded area and grasping his hands encouragingly. The heat of several stares were already boring in my skull, most noticeably my father's. "Harry, could we please just talk about this, I don't – "

"There's nothing to talk about."

He cut me off with such finality that, for a second or two, I was rendered speechless. How could he just decide to up and leave us, leave me, without so much as a discussion? He dug in his heels, both figuratively and literally, and I realized that I couldn't wait for privacy. If I didn't express myself now, he would take off on his ridiculous pursuit without so much as a glance backward. But that was Harry – always diving headfirst into things he didn't understand.

_Didn't understand? I've been fighting the Dark Arts my whole life, how dare you tell me –_

Oh hush, I'll give them your side in a moment. Patience, darling.

_You'd better, or you know I'll be giving them an earful when it's my turn._

Yes, you do that. But right now it's my turn. Mind the little ones, will you? I haven't heard from James in a while and that has me deeply concerned.

_Good point. I'll be back._

"I'm sorry, but the way I see it, there's plenty to talk about," I said, a bit more loudly than I had intended. "You've been home for all of four days, if that, and now suddenly you're going to go off again? The war is _over, _Harry. You don't have to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders anymore. There are plenty of wizards here who are more than capable of capturing those one or two Dea – Dark wizards that've survived. Kingsley's right – let someone else take control for once."

"Maybe it's not about control," he said coldly, "maybe it's about doing the right thing. How could you possibly expect me to stick around here when there is still so much evil out there? Our world is broken, and it's because of me. If I were to ignore that – "

"Because of _you? _Oh sweetheart, no, don't do this. None of this is your fault. You may have been the Chosen One, but only because – because _he _chose you. This whole mess started when he came after you. It's not your fault; it's his."

All the blistering feelings of frustration I felt were starting to melt. It's difficult to be angry with someone you genuinely feel sorry for. As I searched his eyes, I felt less like punching him in the mouth and more like giving him a good strong hug.

On the other hand, the worst thing you can tell someone with a temper is that you pity them. "You're damn right it's his fault! You just said I've been home for four days, well, this isn't my home at all, is it? No, because the home I had was blown up. Your parents have always treated me like their own, because _my _parents are dead. I've got no one else left, because _he _murdered them all. He may have gone, but his followers certainly haven't. What sort of person would I be if I let them roam free to kill even more innocent people?"

He was glowering at me as though defying me to challenge him. Still overcome by sympathy, all I wanted was for him to calm down long enough to be reasonable. "All right, all right, I understand. I'm not saying you shouldn't be Auror someday. I'm saying give it some time, let yourself recover. You're still hurt and you're not in the right state of mind to be making these sorts of decisions – "

"ARE YOU SAYING I'M MENTAL?"

It had gone too far. His chest was heaving, his cheeks were flushed, and now he was shouting. Nearly everyone in attendance was now staring at us. I saw my father whisper something to Kingsley, who in turn gestured toward the Ministry group to follow suit as he Disapparated on the spot. The next thing I knew, they had all gone, leaving the sole focus of attention on Harry and I. I swallowed hard.

"No, I'm not saying that at all, I'm just – "

"You don't understand. I knew you wouldn't. You couldn't, you haven't been through what I've been through."

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME."

Now it was my turn to lose my temper. "Stop playing the injured puppy, all right? You think that just because Voldemort singled you out, you're the only one that's suffering. Well that's _my brother _in that casket. That's my brother with the scars all over his face from being attacked by a werewolf. We've all been damaged by this war, Harry. You're not alone, so stop being so bloody _proud. _No matter what you try to tell yourself, no one died for you. They died because they believed in something that was bigger than themselves. It's time you did too."

"So you're saying no one took a curse to protect me? You're saying Sirius didn't step up to Bellatrix to keep her from killing me, and that Dumbledore – "

"Dumbledore died trying to destroy a Horcrux. You told me yourself Snape never would have laid a hand on you. If you're trying to tell me that Dumbledore died because he stood between you and Snape, you're a damn liar."

The tension between us was so intense that you could practically see the steam rising from the heat. His entire body was shaking now, as was mine. He looked as though he were about to throttle me around the neck at any moment. But I refused to be intimidated.

"You only think," I continued, "that you have to confront these Dark wizards yourself because you've always been allowed to do so. The Order let you fight them off in the Ministry, and on top of the Astronomy Tower, and Dumbledore let you search for all those Horcruxes, because they knew you were the so-called Chosen One. The only reason you got away with half the things you did was because you were the key to defeating Voldemort. Well, Voldemort is dead, Harry. You can't keep using 'I'm a bloody Horcrux' as an excuse anymore."

It was the completely wrong thing to say. Fire burned in his eyes, but behind that I could see pain and misery. I had attacked him in an extremely sensitive place that had never fully healed. For a split second I thought he might raise his hand and slap me across the face. Instead, he took a few steps away from me, shot me a look that was more wounded than anything, and Disapparated.

I was in shock. Which is silly I know; I had provoked him, so what had I expected? Still, it was hard to believe that he would simply vanish rather than finish out the argument. It wasn't like him at all. It was the first time I realized that the war had changed him, the first glimpse into his new personality.

Reality crashed hard on my head. Soon I felt Hermione's reassuring arms around me, and Ron's hand clapped on my shoulder. Even Luna worked her way over, though she could have simply ended up there on accident, as she often did. Luna was never the sort of person who went places so much as wound up there. Yet I was glad she did; I've always found her presence soothing in a strange sort of way. Her brutal honesty was sometimes exactly what I needed.

"That didn't go at all well," she commented.

"Yeah, obviously," replied Ron, who had never had the patience for Luna. I turned my head to tell him off, but the analytical doe-eyed look that she gave him said it all.

"It probably wasn't the best idea to bring up Dumbledore or Horcruxes. I mean, you were completely right, but it might have been better left unsaid. Oh, well. Words are something you can never take back. Best to just move on and accept the situation for what it is. He'll be back. He always comes back." Self-assured and confident, she flounced off to join her next bit of conversation.

Luna Lovegood had just criticized me for being tactless. Life as I knew it was now over. Worst of all, I knew that it was true. The guilt welled up inside me and clung to my throat. Hermione, who had known me for so long that she could gauge my feelings simply by looking at me, wrapped me in a fierce hug. All I could do was stare at the spot where Harry had Disapparated.

"I hate when he does this. Hermione…where do you think he went?"


	13. Chapter 11

_Harry_

In all the years I'd known her, I never would have expected that Ginny could say something so hurtful. My stomach churned with a thousand different feelings: remorse, resentment, resolve. I deeply regretted having told her that Voldemort had inadvertently made me into a Horcrux. Now every time my temper flared, she was going to think it was because I still had some residual Dark magic inside me. To be perfectly honest, who was I to argue the point? In that queer half-dead state, Dumbledore had told me that Voldemort's Killing Curse had in fact only killed that part of his soul that was inside me, and that I was now free. As fury boiled my blood, I found it difficult to believe. After all, Dumbledore was dead. Logic said it was only a hallucination. It was, therefore, entirely possible that I had merely been knocked unconscious, and that a piece of Voldemort lived on through me. I felt dirty and sick at the thought of it.

All these thoughts sprang spontaneously into my head the instant Ginny accused me of making excuses. I was so overwhelmed by them that I couldn't respond to her in words. The most I could do was gape at her open-mouthed and Disapparate to the first place I could think of: the Ministry of Magic.

Looking back on it now, I'm not entire sure why I chose to go there. Never in my life had I ever been able to trust the place. They had accused me of being attention-starved, a crackpot, and a liar; of being uncooperative and selfish; and most recently, of being a murderer – though admittedly that had been under a Death Eater regime. Regardless, it was the last place anyone would have expected me to go. Which may have been the reason why I went.

_ What did I say? Always doing things just to be contradictory. _

Oh, so it's okay for you to interrupt _my _piece, but not for me to interrupt yours? Speaking of being contradictory…

_ But I'm so pretty._

Yes dear.

Or maybe it was because I felt fueled by a burning desire to _do _something. The momentum with which I had lived the last seven years of my life, running from and then outright chasing Voldemort, made inaction on my part virtually impossible. What I really wanted was to go to random part of the country and stalk out Death Eaters directly. A voice in my head, however – a voice that sounded very much like Hermione – told me it would be wiser to join the collective. That's how I came to find myself in the Atrium.

Or rather, what was left of it.

"You're joking, 'a bloody Horcrux', you're _fucking joking!"_

One part of Apparating I had never quite got the hang of was the instantaneity of it. I was still fighting with Ginny when the spinning sensation stopped and the central part of the Ministry swam into view. A couple of wizards that had been passing by stopped abruptly and stared at me. I glared back. Thinking about it now, I would probably have been just as startled by the sudden shouting of obscenities. At the time, though, I had quite enough of people treating me like a freak in a circus show, and I was not in the mood to explain myself.

Without so much as a glance upward, I stormed angrily toward the collection of lifts at the end of the corridor and started smashing buttons. In my blind rage, I wasn't entirely sure where I was headed. All I knew was that I had to go _somewhere._

The next thing I knew, I was standing in front of a door that read "AUROR OFFICE". It was a bit superfluous, as it had been left ajar and I could see a dozen witches and wizards scurrying between cubicles. My face had been plastered on the walls of more of these mini-offices than I would have liked. Here, chaos reigned. I picked my way carefully through tattered remains of Undesirable No. 1 posters and bits of anti-Muggle literature that looked halfway shredded. A soft _crunch _told me that I had accidentally stepped on an abandoned picture frame. As I bent down to pick it up, I instantly recognized the face of one of the Death Eaters that had led the charge against Hogwarts. With undisguised disgust, I flung it as hard as I could against the nearest wall.

The rumors are all true. My name is Harry Potter, and I like to throw things.

_ This is true. I frequently find myself having to Harry-proof the house before he gets home, lest the cat gets tossed out the window or something._

I didn't even know we had a cat.

_Well there you are then._

"OI!" sounded an irritated male voice. Pitching heavy objects at solid walls may be brilliant stress relief, but it's also a fantastic way to get yourself noticed. Nearly everyone in the room stopped and stared at the source of the disturbance – namely, me. A young wizard, maybe in the middle of his 20s or so, with long frazzled hair that had been drawn into a ponytail, came rushing up to me.

"Harry Potter!" he said, now more pleased than annoyed. "Wonderful to see you here, figured it was inevitable. My name is Williamson, Nate Williamson. So looking forward to your help cleaning up around here; Merlin knows we need it." With one hand he gestured at the debris covering most of the floor's surface; with the other he shook my hand with such vigor that my arm started to go numb.

"Yeah, well, I imagine that's what happens when you take over a place in a hurry," I said unhelpfully. The truth was, I was horribly distracted; the entire time this Williamson character was trying to talk to me, I was busy looking around for the head of the division. It wasn't that I wasn't interested in what he had to say – I just had more pressing issues on my mind.

"Exactly. Believe it or not, quite a few Death Eaters actually showed up here right after the battle at Hogwarts. Seemed to think that they were still in charge. Well, Kingsley and Robards were quick to right that, I'll tell you. It turned pretty ugly – I don't think Finchley is ever going to be the same – but they got the idea. Robards had the survivors shipped off to Azkaban and we've been here ever since, trying to straighten everything out. It's a lot of work. We've practically got to start from scratch. But now that you're here, everything feels…well, it feels all right again."

It's hard to explain the look he was giving me. Even though he had a good five to ten years on me, he had something of an adoring look on his face. It wasn't quite simpering, but it was definitely enough to make me feel uncomfortable.

I sincerely hoped people weren't going to be looking at me like that for the rest of my life.

_Oh yes, we've all got shrines built to you in our closets. I'm going to go light some candles for mine right now._

Damn it, is everything a joke to you?

_ Yes._

Well-played.

Conveniently, our conversation - or was it my bad temper? – had attracted the attention of the very man I was after. Gawain Robards approached us, a slight limp in his step and a crooked smile on his face.

"Ah, Harry. I had a feeling you'd end up here."

So much about him reminded me of Mad-Eye, from his gait to the scar that ran the length of his face. When he spoke, I half-expected to hear a low gruff come out of his mouth. The fact that his voice was firm and clear caught me by surprise. I could feel Ron punching me in the arm and hear him asking me if this was what happened to everyone that worked as an Auror, and if so, I might want to rethink careers. I stifled a laugh in spite of myself.

"Yes hi!" I said, so quickly that my words were blurring together. My excitement was beginning to overpower my anger. "I came to ask you about that task force you - "

"Harry, I know why you're here."

Already I hated the tone of his voice. It was the tone that frustrated parents took when struggling to have patience with their child, a kind of wag-of-the-finger sound. Whatever he had to say next, I knew I wouldn't like. He clapped his hand on my shoulder and I fought off the urge to throw him off.

"Arthur and I have already discussed it with Themis. She's our current head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and I'm certain she's expecting you. Just go straight down this corridor and make a left, her office is on the right-hand side, now there's a good lad."

As he spoke, he gripped my shoulder and used it to direct me back out the way I came. Surprise and shock stifled my reaction, which finally came when he released me at the entranceway. This was not at all the plan I had had in mind. Images of my crushed intentions swam before my eyes, and I turned sharply on my heels.

"Excuse me – sir? The Department of Magical Law Enforcement?" I said politely, fighting to keep my voice calm and still. After all, it could have been a simple mistake. Perhaps he had meant to say "Auror Office", or perhaps I was to be sent to the Department head for preliminary training. Bureaucracy confused and angered me, but as I looked around at the shattered remains of the office, I thought maybe they were just trying to get their heads back on straight.

"Oh yes, the entire administration has been upturned. The Wizengamot in particular is desperate for organizational help. I'll be perfectly honest with you, Harry," he said, dropping his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone. "We're going through a major reconstruction right now, and we want you involved in the project as much as possible. You've got a pretty keen idea of who's trustworthy and who's not. You were also close to Dumbledore, as close as any wizard we know. We trusted his judgment, so now we're going to trust yours. We want you involved in every detail, from personnel management to the re-writing and adoption of legal rights and actions."

"So basically what you're saying is that you want me to be a paper-pusher."

"I suppose that's how it _would _sound to you, yes. We're rebuilding the Ministry and we want your influence in every element of it."

"Right, all except the part where I actually _catch _Dark wizards. Going to leave that to more _experienced _wizards, are you?"

"Well…in a sense, yes." At least he was being honest with me. "We already have all the Aurors we need, and they know how to do their job. They've been extremely well-trained and hardened by practice and experience. We don't need you here as much as they need you next door."

"Yes, your Aurors really know their job, don't they? They know it so well that Voldemort was able to overrun them in a matter of weeks. I'm sorry, but if working with the Ministry means sitting at a desk and signing papers all damn day, I'm not interested. I've got more important things to do. Let me know when you realize you have no bloody clue what you're doing."

Incensed, I snatched my wand out of my back pocket and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I'm not really sure why I felt the need to arm myself before I left. There was something distinctly comforting in the heat of its wood in my palm, like an old friend I knew would look after me no matter what. I also felt an intense desire to blow a hole in a wall or smash some tiles on my way out, though I was careful not to act on it. The Ministry was already so dilapidated that I feared one more jinx would bring the entire structure – whatever was left of it – crashing to the ground. Instead, I satisfied myself with sending a few sparks out of an already gaping hole.

How _dare _they insist they knew what was good for me! Ginny, Robards – even Dumbledore and Sirius had always demanded I sit still and be quiet like a good little boy. Well, look where that had gotten us: a raging war that senselessly destroyed the lives of countless wizards and witches. If only I had ignored them, if only I had gone after Voldemort when he first returned to my power three years ago, none of this would have happened.

_Well, that's not necessarily true_. I nearly ran headfirst into the grate of the lift at the end of the corridor as the thought struck me. A voice that sounded irritatingly like Ginny's sounded in my head. _If you had chased after Voldemort three years ago, you would be dead, and the other Horcruxes would still exist. You would have died, really died, and all for nothing. _I shook the bars of the grate hard in frustration as dawning realization hit me full in the face. I was being irrational because my temper had gotten the best of me.

As seemed to happen often these days, Ginny was right, and I felt like an ass.


	14. Chapter 12

_Ginny_

By the end of the third day of Harry's absence, I was officially worried. I sat anxiously on the edge of Ron's bed, my hands pressed so hard between my knees that my fingers were turning white. It was hard to pretend I wasn't concerned when images kept flooding my brain of Harry being ambushed by a group of renegade Death Eaters, or having a spell backfire on him in the midst of his rage – or worse, both. I stared hard at the space on the floor where Ron was attempting to clear out his old school trunk. He had reached that layer at the very bottom where nearly everything reminded him of his first couple of years at Hogwarts, and he felt the need to analyze every detail of it.

"Hey look, it's a pawn from that wizard's chess set Percy bought for Harry! Wonder how I ended up with – hey, geroff!" he yelled as the wizened old chess piece tried to free itself from his grip. He flung it as hard as he could and the pawn hit the wall with a sickening crunch. Having grown up around these sorts of things my entire life, I hardly noticed, but Hermione gave a horrified shudder.

Hermione was either extremely perceptive, or we had been friends for so long that she could pick up on my mood at a glance. Either way, she stopped pulling clothes from Ron's cupboard and sat down on the bed beside me. "It'll be all right; I'm sure he's fine," she said softly. It was obvious that she wasn't entirely sure about the verity of her own statement, but I found it comforting nonetheless.

"Oh what, Harry?" Ron was only half-listening. One of his jumpers had taken on a life of its own, probably as a result of a jinx performed poorly and now expiring, and he was struggling to fight it back into his trunk. "If I had a Galleon for every time he stormed off in a huff somewhere, I'd be richer than the Malfoys."

_ Did he really say that?_

He sure did.

_ NOT COOL, RON. NOT COOL._

Would you feel better if I told you that at this point, he had poked the jumper with his wand so many times that it was now on fire, and he was starting to panic?

_ …a little._

With her now-infamous glare of exasperation, Hermione waved her wand and stopped the blaze that had sprung up in Ron's hand. He tossed it on the rubbish pile and gave Hermione an appreciative smile. This was her weakness. No matter what Ron did, no matter how angry she was with him, all was forgiven the instant he gave her that goofy schoolboy grin. Her heart visibly melted in front of me.

"It's true, in a way. Harry's run off on us a dozen times before, and he's always come back. Remember all those times in fifth year when he refused to eat with us because Seamus had said something or you had said something about Seamus, or some other such nonsense?"

"Yeah, worse than a girl he was." Never the quickest mind of the lot, he paused and looked over at us guiltily. "Present company excluded, of course."

_ Oi! You'd be annoyed too if all your friends were accusing you of lying about the most traumatic experience of your life! WHAT THE HELL RON._

A curt nod was Hermione's sole response. I opened my mouth to argue: I could well remember several of Harry's temper tantrums, but none had ever left him looking so deeply hurt. Before I could speak, a second flame burst spontaneous into the room. At first I thought it was the jumper, insufficiently snuffed out by Hermione's Extinguishing Charm. Then I realized it was coming from the dressing table in the corner.

And it was still burning.

To all of our amazement, Fawkes the phoenix was sitting perched on the table as though this were a perfectly ordinary thing to do. He remained motionless for quite some time, staring at each of us in turn with his head cocked somewhat analytically. As he had always been Dumbledore's pet and loyal friend, and he had flown off into the wilderness after Dumbledore's funeral, we had always assumed he was gone for good. Seeing him here now, his brilliant red feathers shimmering brightly in the weak sunlight, was incredibly unexpected.

Once he had absorbed each of us in turn, he drew himself up to the full extent of his height and stretched his wings out as far as they would go. It was an impressive stature, and if he sought our undivided attention he certainly had it. Slowly he began to sing, a strong, melodic song that sounded nothing like the lament he had given at Dumbledore's funeral. This was much more pleasant. It filled me with a warmth and strength I didn't know I had. I felt calm, yet at the same time like I could tackle anything that was thrown at me. I looked over at Hermione. The hardened resolve etched across her face told me she felt the same way I did. Even Ron was gripping his wand with a kind of deliberate purpose as he stared blankly into his trunk.

"Where's Harry?" I asked the bird quietly. It seems silly I know, posing a question to a magical creature as though it could understand me. The thing is, Fawkes had always given us the impression that he _could _understand us. This was no exception. He finished his song, withdrew his wings, and considered me for a moment. Pausing just long enough to wink at me, he then erupted into a mass of flame and was gone.

_ When you say he "winked" at you –_

No, I know how it sounds. I didn't even know birds had eyelids. But he definitely blinked one of his eyes in my direction. It had to be some sort of signal, because no sooner had he vanished than someone Apparated in the yard just below the window with a loud POP. Ron, Hermione and I exchanged glances. My first thought was that it had to be Harry. Why else would Fawkes appear so suddenly and unpredictably? Why, too, would Fawkes respond to the sound of Harry's name the way that he had?

Sure enough, after several heavy footsteps pounded their way upstairs, the figure of Harry Potter stood outlined against the doorway. He certainly looked worse for wear. His hair was unkempt and soaked in sweat – or at least, I hoped it was sweat – and there was a gaping hole in his shirt at the shoulder blade. It's hard to believe I had looked upon him whole, clean and well-groomed and attractive, once. It's just as hard to believe that I didn't care. At the sight of him I jumped to my feet, thrilled beyond reckoning that he was all right.

Then I hesitated.

"You've been gone a while."

"Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck where I knew it had flushed with embarrassment, "about that – "

"Three days, in fact."

"I know."

"Care to tell us where you've been?"

"Not really."

If I knew Harry at all, he was actually quite keen to tell us the details of his most recent excursion. He was not, however, interested in sharing them under accusatory conditions. I could practically hear his blood boiling as he folded his arms and dug in his heels. Cold as stone and more stubborn than an adolescent Mandrake, he glared at me with bitter defiance. I knew that if I continued to press him for information, and I didn't drop my hostile tone, he would freeze up and refuse to tell us anything. It was one of his more infuriating traits.

_ Good thing I grew out of that, eh?_

Last Thursday you insisted that the battle with Voldemort hadn't been quite the way it was described in books, and I said I didn't believe you, but when I finally asked you about it you refused to say a word. It was a childish sort of "you didn't want to know then so I'm not going to tell you now" moment. Remember that?

_ …oh yeah._

Idiot.

_Witch._

Love you.

_ Love you more._

Aww.

A hardened and well-versed mediator, Hermione timidly spoke up. "Harry, we've just been worried, that's all. You left in sort of a – a rush, and we didn't know how long you'd be gone. Ron and I only just decided to go look for my parents. We wanted to wait to see if you'd join us, but well…we weren't sure when you'd be back. So we've just been packing," she said, pointing unnecessarily at the opened trunk on the floor. Oblivious to the heated tension, Ron continued to sift through his belongings unconcerned.

"Well, I'm back now," Harry said shortly. He was livid and I didn't care. It might not have been the best idea to attack him the instant he returned home, particularly since I didn't know what sort of ordeal he had been through. And I had to admit that he had virtually come back with his tail between his legs, which meant he knew that what he'd done was wrong. Maybe it was guilt at having said something so vicious and cruel just before he left. Maybe it was residual resentment from all the times he had up and left on some dangerous journey without telling me. Whatever it was, I felt that I was owed an apology and I would not be content until I received one.

Unfortunately, getting Harry to apologize for his bad temper was like asking Snape to marry the Marauders.

_ I have mixed feelings about this statement._

"Oh, and Fawkes was here," Hermione added, almost as an afterthought. "Showed up just before you did. It was a bit strange, I mean, we haven't seen him since - well, we haven't seen him in years," she said awkwardly. I couldn't be sure if she avoided saying "since Dumbledore's funeral" because it was uncomfortable or because years of experience tip-toeing around Harry's foul moods had taught her better.

Strangely, Harry didn't seem surprised at the news. "Yeah, I saw him at Hogwarts. I stopped into Dumbledore's office right before I came here, and he was there. He was just sitting on his old perch, preening, as if nothing had happened. It was really weird. That room was probably the most intact part of the whole castle, and it still had loads of Dumbledore's old stuff in it. I expected Snape to have ruined the place, you know, put up a good show for the Death Eaters and all, but no – it looked like Dumbledore had never left. Especially since Fawkes was there. I didn't see him fly in or anything; he was just…there."

"Is that where you've been all this time, then? Hogwarts?" Ron might have been catching up with an old friend over tea, he asked the question so lightly. He gave his trunk a good once-over with his wand. Miraculously, nothing caught fire or exploded. Even more miraculously, the last stubborn bits of dirt and dust came neatly off the surface, meaning his spell had worked correctly.

Hermione bit back her amazement.

"Not exactly, no," Harry replied. Little by little his audacity was weakening. Clearly his mad desire to tell the tale of his disappearance was beginning to override his obstinate pride. He dropped his arms to his sides and gave me a look out of the corner of his eyes. If it had to be put to words, it would have sounded something like, "I'm going to relent, but don't you dare forget I'm still angry with you."

I returned the look with an equal amount of annoyance.

Gingerly, as though the bed might break if he got too close to me, he sat himself beside me. "I went to the Ministry of Magic first, and then yeah, I ended up at Hogwarts. There's a lot going on out there, a lot of changes. And I don't like it. If we let things continue the way they are, it's going to be just as bad as it was before. Maybe even worse."


	15. Chapter 13

_Harry_

There is nothing more infuriating to an already enraged person than the dawning realization that they were wrong. It's an awful feeling. You know full well what you did, but admitting it is altogether impossible. It could actually kill you. I'm not kidding. Look what happened to Snape when he realized running off to join the Death Eaters resulted in the death of the woman he loved and he could never make up for that mistake, not ever, not even by saving the life of her only son even though you secretly hated him because he looked so much like the boy who used to bully you in school so you bullied _him _and made his existence miserable and I'M NOT BITTER, NOT AT ALL, WHY WOUL D YOU EVEN ASK THAT.

_Well. Okay then._

My point is, as I stood at the entrance to the lift and comprehension washed over me, the last place I wanted to be was with the girl I knew had bested me.

Apparition is a very tricky business. You need to focus very intently on the place you want to be. If you don't really want to be there, it knows. I'm not sure how exactly, but it does. All I know is that, when I thought of the Burrow, I thought of Ginny and the smug look that would appear on her face. My stomach sank as I pictured it and turned on the spot. In the split second before darkness surrounded and suffocated me, I found myself wishing I were going to Hogwarts instead.

Hogwarts, for all the destruction it had endured, had always been a home for me, a place of safety and security. Because I hadn't had the experience of living in it while it was swarmed with Death Eaters, it never lost that illusion for me. That's why, when I dreaded returning going back to the Burrow, the castle and all its comfortable familiarity sprang into my mind.

The air returned to my lungs, the spinning ceased, and slowly I pried open my eyes. Piles of stone rubble that had once been towering castle walls lay scattered, along with dozens of witches and wizards working hard to repair it. This was definitely not the Burrow.

My first reaction was that I had taken a wrong turn somewhere (so to speak) and ought to try again. Before I could do anything, though, I happened to glance up at one of the spiraling turrets that was still standing. It was Dumbledore's office, and there was a soft glowing light emanating from one of its windows. Curiosity got the best of me. I decided to go investigate.

_I'm fairly certain this is the opening of every book written about your time at Hogwarts. "I don't go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me." Right._

I don't think of it as "looking for trouble" so much as "heading trouble off at the pass".

_I don't think of it as "heading trouble off at the pass" so much as "you're a bloody idiot."_

Thanks popkin.

_Anytime._

Despite the fact that Voldemort's entire army had either fled or been killed, the enchantments surrounding the immediate area of Hogwarts had promptly been put back in place. Something told me this had been McGonagall's idea. As such, I had to make the long trek up to the castle by foot, which was no easy feat. By the time I reached the elegant wrought iron gates, I was drenched in sweat, exhausted and exceptionally cranky.

The renewed spell work suggested an air of caution on the part of the staff, so I assumed I would have to summon someone to let me in. "_Expecto Patronum,_" I said lazily with a vague flick of my wand. I was so accustomed to producing my Patronus that the idea of it not coming never occurred to me.

Yet that's exactly what happened.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _I shouted, waving my wand more forcefully this time. Still nothing. Frustrated, I shook the gates hard, as though punishing them for refusing me entry. The metal was cold as ice. I jumped, taken by surprise. After all, it was nearly sunset, but the sun had been beating down on me all through my long walk up to the grounds. It made no sense.

_I love when you forget that you're a wizard._

Almost at once, the bars of the gate began to shift and turn, until they made a gaping hole just large enough for a man to step through. Someone must have cast a spell that would recognize me, or any other member of the Order of the Phoenix – or any other decent wizard, for that matter. I grinned at my own naïveté. Hogwarts would never cease to amaze me, and I was thrilled to see that the staff meant to keep it that way.

Carefully I picked my way through the debris, further reminders of the world in which I now lived. It was like a twisted tour through a war zone – which, I reminded myself, was exactly what it was. To my left was the enormous hole left by Grawp when he had forced his fist inside the castle walls; to my right was the forest where I had –

I couldn't finish the thought without my body convulsing from the memory.

Hagrid's hut, I was pleased to see, had been among the first parts of the grounds to be restored. Inwardly I cheered.

It was hard to believe it hadn't even been a full week since the battle. Already it felt like a lifetime ago. The looks on the faces of those I passed told me they felt the same. I wondered to myself how much of the staff was left to teach. I had seen Slughorn and McGonagall at the funeral, but Sprout? Flitwick? It was too painful to think about anything happening to the old squeaking Charms professor that had always had to stand on a pile of books to teach. Ginny had said that it was not my fault. I kept that thought close to my heart as I trudged up the stairs that led to the main entrance of the castle.

"Harry! What on earth are you doing here?"

As usual, Professor McGonagall had managed to appear out of thin air. For once I was not unhappy to see her. "Is everything all right?" she asked sternly, clasping her hands around my face in a very Mrs.-Weasley-type gesture. It was such a maternal thing to do that I was rendered temporarily speechless.

She looked me over, presumably to check me for _more _bumps and bruises, then let me go when she was satisfied. "Yeah, yeah I'm all right," I told her. "I was just…"

But I couldn't remember.

There was something about the pathetic state of the school, the way the teachers and their aides were rushing about to mend it, that drove my purpose clear out of my mind. For the life of me I couldn't remember what I had come in for. I felt like someone had cast a momentary Memory Charm on me. It was an awful and almost terrifying experience.

Luckily McGonagall was in one of her kinder moods. "Come to oversee our progress I expect, see if you could offer assistance. Well, I would have felt better if you hadn't come alone, but with things such as they are…"

I knew what she meant. My whole life I had always had some sort of guardian. When my parents died it was the Dursleys, and when they were forced into hiding it was the Weasleys and Ron and Hermione. Now that the Weasleys were in mourning, I was left virtually unaccompanied. It should have been liberating, but instead I felt lonely and sick.

_You're a god damn idiot. You knew I would have gone to the ends of the earth with you. You knew I'd always felt that way. How did you think _I _felt, home with a weeping family and brothers whose girlfriends were all with us? You're a selfish prat, I hope you know that._

Feel better?

_A bit._

Mind if I get on with the story now?

_I suppose._

Thanks.

"No matter," she said in the brisk tone that I had become so used to. Its familiarity was something of a relief to me. "Professors Flitwick, Sprout and Sinistra are over in the Great Hall. I'm sure they would appreciate a hand, if that's why you're here. We've only just arrived ourselves and the place is a terrible mess." She gave a wistful sigh and looked around. As if to further her point, one of the paintings by the stairwell came crashing down on the floor. "At any rate. I believe Hagrid may be in there as well. I know Pomona was struggling to get him away from the funeral, put him to use so he could keep busy. It's been dreadful for all of us. I can't imagine…well. Well."

With that, she heaved another great sigh and set off for who knows what.

I was in shock. This was hardly the McGonagall I knew: maternal gestures, calling a teacher by her first name in front of me, being kind to Hagrid. Not that she had ever been unkind to him, but she certainly had never illustrated this level of compassion toward him. There was something endearingly Dumbledore-ish about her, and it made me smile to think of it.

The first thing I noticed on entering the Great Hall was how vastly empty it looked. There were no students chattering excitedly about the upcoming Quidditch match, no teachers frantically passing out schedules before the day began. There were only a handful of teachers now, and they were busy arguing.

"…don't see how that's going to solve anything," insisted a tall dark-haired witch I didn't recognize. "You can't just sweep everything under the rug and pretend it never happened. I've heard she wants to make Voldemort's name Taboo. _Taboo, _Aurora!"

"Well, maybe it ought to be," snapped Professor Sinistra. "Merlin knows it gets tossed around like bad dragon's egg as it is. It's not about pretending it never happened, Septima. It's about preserving our dignity and getting on with our lives."

"'_Preserving our dignity'?" _screeched the unfamiliar witch. "_That's _a Death Eater line if I ever heard one!"

Professor Sprout, who had clearly been trying to mediate, aimed a spell hard at the floor between the two witches. Black and yellow sparks flew into the air, immediately silencing the pair. "Ladies, that's _enough. _Haven't we got enough to do without bickering about the new Minister of Magic? The elections are over, Helena Themis won, and that's all there is to it. Fighting it now is as useless as fighting Devil's Snare with your bare hands. Come now, just a few more mending spells on these tables, make sure food passes up properly, and we'll call it a day, shall we?"

Having heard just about enough, I backed out as slowly as I could without being noticed. Once I was sure I was out of view, I raced up the nearest stairs as quickly as I could. Luckily instinct could carry me to the Headmaster's office, because my mind was blazing with thoughts. A new Minister? How had I missed that election? It must have happened while I was at the Burrow. Suddenly I was furious with Ginny for keeping me bound there while so much was happening in the outside world.

_Oh, name one thing that _doesn't _make you furious with me._

Your bum.

_HARRY WHAT THE HELL._

That ought to keep her quiet for a while.

As I leapt up the stairs, I chanced a glance out of one of the windows, more out of general caution and awareness than anything else. The sky was rapidly beginning to darken, and I was having second thoughts about returning "home". Surely the other teachers would have no problem with my staying here for the night. My old four-poster seemed much more inviting than the bed I was currently sharing with Ginny, and anyway, I fancied myself of good use to them. I knew a good number of mending spells thanks to all those months on the run with Hermione.

Mindless of where my feet were carrying me, before I knew it I was standing before the old familiar stone gargoyle. I paused as I wondered if there was still a password. The last true Headmaster had been Snape, and I could only imagine what sort of password he would have dreamed up. Or would he have dreamed one up at all? I gazed up into the face of the gargoyle and, trying to keep the hesitation out of my voice, said, "Dumbledore."

The gargoyle slid lazily aside, revealing a great spiraling staircase. Light was issuing forth from the entrance at the top like a great, smoky summons. The last time I had been in this office, it had been to consult Dumbledore's portrait about the Elder Wand. No doubt Snape would have a portrait now, too. I prayed that he would be asleep or otherwise better occupied as I made my ascent.


	16. Chapter 14

_Ginny_

For once in my life, I had to admit that Harry was right. As much as I wanted to believe that the world had ended with the final defeat of Voldemort, it hadn't. Somehow I thought that, since we were all safe at home nursing our wounds, time had simply come to a halt. Harry's story brought me back to a harsh reality. Outside of the Burrow, life was continuing as usual. Hermione and Ron would shortly be departing for who-knows-where, and we had a new Minister of Magic who would be implementing laws that changed who-knows-what. Perhaps it was finally time to poke my head out of the cave.

"So what was up there, what did you see, was Snape's portrait there, did he try to talk to you, blimey, if he gave you his usual bullshit I'll go back and give him a right what-for – "

"_Ron," _said Hermione impatiently. He withered under the look she gave him and was instantly quiet. One more reason why I'm so fond of her.

"Yeah, Snape's portrait was there," Harry answered, "but it was totally empty. I mean totally – no chair, no desk, nothing. Just pitch blackness. The only reason I even knew it was his was because his name was carved into the bottom of it. Weird stuff. Anyway, turns out the light was coming from Fawkes. Like I said, he was just _there, _like he'd always been there. Like it was perfectly natural and nothing had changed. So far as I can tell, he never moved from that spot. I stopped in to have a chat with Dumbledore just before I Apparated here, and Fawkes was still there. He even sang a bit. Always loved it when he sang, so reassuring."

While Harry gazed at the corner of the ceiling with a faraway look in his eyes, Hermione looked wary. "'Have a chat with Dumbledore'…?" she asked slowly, gingerly. Harry snapped back to attention.

"Look, I know, all right? I know he's dead, I know he's not coming back. I know his portrait is just a cheap imitation of him. I _know. _But I just…it – well, it helps to hear his voice sometimes." He sped through the last bit so quickly that he nearly stumbled over his own words. The upper part of his neck just below his chin started to flush with embarrassment. I wound my arm around his elbow and slipped my fingers between his. Almost imperceptibly he squeezed my hand and I knew he understood that I understood.

_You're a wonderful human being._

Sometimes.

_Sometimes._

"Well then…what did he have to say?" she said in a small voice. Months of being in the direct line of fire of Harry's fluctuating moods had taught her to approach with caution.

Luckily for me, I stopped giving a damn around fifth year.

"I asked him about this new minister. I don't know what it is, but I've got an awful feeling about her. They say she wants to act as though Voldemort never happened. The funny thing is, Dumbledore didn't seem to have an opinion about it. All he wanted to talk about was Malfoy. 'Keep an eye on Draco,' he said, 'remember what happened to Tom Riddle'. I'm having a hard time connecting the two, other than the fact that they're both pure concentrated evil – "

"Malfoy's mother saved your life," retorted Hermione matter-of-factly.

Sometimes that girl made me so proud.

It seemed Harry was at a loss for words. He opened his mouth several times as if to respond, but then just as quickly closed it. Casting about for a new subject to latch on to, his eyes fell on the open trunk on the floor. "Going somewhere, are we?" he asked roughly.

"Yeah, we're going to go look for Hermione's parents," replied Ron with some confusion, "you know that. Probably start in Australia, as she convinced them it was their dearest wish or something like that. You're welcome to come along, mate. Figured we'd leave in the morning, but we'll wait for you."

Harry turned his head toward me so fast I could practically hear his neck snap. "So it's all right for _them _to go wandering about another bloody continent, but when I want to travel a bit north suddenly I'm a selfish bastard."

Dating Harry Potter requires more patience than making Polyjuice Potion. I closed my eyes and took a steadying breath. "There's a difference between searching for loved ones and hunting down Death Eaters, sweetheart."

For the record, Harry hates being called "sweetheart". It's like nails on chalkboard to him, always has been. His reaction was perfect: he narrowed his eyes, exhaled loudly to illustrate his disdain, and let it go. "Are you going?" he asked me shortly through clenched teeth. I gave him a smug grin and then acted as though nothing had happened.

"Wasn't planning to, no. Neville and I actually talked about going to school early. We figure if we offer to help them rebuild, maybe they'll let us stay and use the library to catch up on our N.E.W.T. studies. You really ought to come with us; I don't think there's a "running blindly into a situation without a strategy or exit plan" portion to the Auror exams."

_There ought to be. It'd make it more realistic. And then they should name it after me._

If there's anything Harry hates more than being called "sweetheart", it's being told what to do. He looked from Ron to me and then back at Ron, finally staring a spot on the floor with such intensity I was surprised it didn't catch fire. An uncomfortable silence fell over the room, broken only when Hermione squeaked and snatched up a loose piece of parchment that had fallen out of her pocket. Ron lifted an eyebrow, but when she shook her head with innocence he shrugged and resumed packing.

At last Harry spoke.

"It's Hogwarts or the Ministry then, isn't it?"

"Or abroad," Ron reminded him.

"Right, well as much as I love to listen to the two of you bicker, I think I'm going to take my chances with school. Not to _study, _mind you," he said with a glare in my direction, "but to rebuild. That way I can keep a good ear out for what's going on in the Ministry, maybe intervene if I have to."

As confident as he sounded, I had to stifle a giggle as I thought about him bursting through the doors to the Ministry, ready to take on the entire staff single-handedly. Then I caught the awkward glances between Ron and Hermione and remembered that the three of them had done exactly that. War has a funny way of withdrawing absurdity from situations. I found myself not unhappy with the thought of having his company in the fall.

That night, Mum decided we all needed to share a cup of tea together before bed. She was in a right state, torn between being livid with Ron for leaving and sympathetic love for Hermione. In the end, she realized she couldn't stop them any more than she could have stopped Harry looking for Horcruxes. That, however, didn't stop her from sipping her tea with a permanent scowl etched across her face. It was the deep look of disapproval that we could never get used to, and Ron's discomfort showed.

"It's all right Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said in a vain attempt to assuage her concerns, "we're fairly certain we know exactly where my mum and dad are, it really ought to be a short trip. I promise we'll write, three times a day if you like."

The words "fairly certain" and "ought to" did not have the desired effect: Mum only narrowed her eyes and hid her face behind her mug. Hermione blushed furiously, aware that she had said the wrong thing but unsure how to fix it.

_Boy if I had a Galleon for every time I did that…_

"Hey Ginny," said Harry loudly, "did I tell you what Robards said to me when I was at the Ministry? About that specialty task force? Said there was no need for me to join it, as they've already caught the majority of Death Eaters that had escaped. It's a good thing he assembled it so quickly – gave them time to snag them all before they could spread out too far."

Mum set her mug down on the table next to her a bit too roughly. The ringing sound of porcelain on glass hung in the air for several seconds. "Harry please, you _know _Arthur works at the Ministry. He's told me all about that little task force – complete and utter failure, if you ask me, especially with the Wizengamot giving such light sentences now that Themis is Minister."

"What do you mean, _light_?"

You know that look that people get when they realize they've said something they shouldn't, that look like a small animal that just got caught in the headlights of an oncoming car? That was the look Mum took on when Harry posed his indignant question. She must have noticed it too, because she hastened to rearrange her face to something more like polite innocence.

"Oh well, nothing to trouble yourself with, dear," she said with a breezy attitude that was most definitely forced. "Just some administrative snafus, nothing worth fussing about. Now, are you two all packed for the morning? Do you need anything before you go? I don't know how early you plan on getting out of bed, but I'd be happy to make you breakfast before you leave if you like."

"Molly."

Harry had never used her first name so boldly. The air was heavy with our silence as Harry bent over toward her, his elbows on his knees and an intense look in his eyes. "I would hardly call letting a few Death Eaters off the hook 'administrative snafus'. You know I plan on joining the Aurors. You know Dark wizards stole my entire family from me. What's going on?"

There was a cold undercurrent in his voice that, I confess, terrified me. It was far more effective than when he screamed and carried on. I could see Mum starting to crumble under his stare, but she kept her calm smile glued to her face nevertheless. It was something of a talent of hers. "Well you're not an Auror yet, love," she said smoothly. "Best leave it to the experts for now. Will you be going back to school with Ginny in September, then?"

For several long minutes Harry and Mum stared one another down, him with determination and her with feigned kindness. He idly rubbed the hand where _I must not tell lies _was still carved into his flesh. I shivered openly.

Unable to stand it another minute, I spoke up. "Yes, he'll be coming with us to Hogwarts," I said, dropping my hand over his in what looked like a show of support. In reality I simply couldn't bear looking at the horrible reminder of Umbridge another second. Hermione picked up on my desperate attempt to lighten the mood, and eagerly suggested that she might also return to school in the fall. Eventually conversation drifted to school Quidditch teams and hopes for exams, and a couple hours later we were all yawning our way to bed.

The intensity between Harry and my mother, however, never ceased.

"She knows something I don't know," he said, stomping his way across the dark room. "I _know _she does. Bloody hell, why is everyone else always in the know except me? Why do they never tell me _anything?_"

"Probably because they know you'll react like this," I reasoned from under the covers. Exhausted, I had been very quick to change and crawl into bed. Harry, on the other hand, had only managed to pull off his shirt before he set to work pacing the length of the room.

The dirty look I got told me that my comment was not appreciated.

"She said they're getting light sentences…are they even being sent to Azkaban? Because_ that's _fair, you know, my godfather serves a ten-year sentence there for a crime he didn't even commit, but mass murderers are free to roam the streets. Brilliant."

"Can't we talk about this in the morning?"

"Are you kidding? I can't sleep now!"

"Look," I groaned, flopping onto my back and pulling a pillow over my face, "it's late, and I am very, _very _tired. Keep yourself up all night worrying about the inevitable, run a damn marathon in this room if you like, but _I'm _going to sleep."

If he had a response to that, I didn't hear it, because true to my word I immediately fell into a deep sleep.


	17. Chapter 15

_Harry_

**Author's Note: **A number of you have questioned my staying in Ginny's bedroom for

the duration of my stay at the Burrow. I realize this story is extremely long – we're just so damn chatty! – but you will see at the end of chapter 8 that this was explained. I'd been sneaking into Ginny's room, and Hermione into Ron's, since we first arrived. The fact that no one noticed or cared is nothing short of miraculous, but that's how it was.

Also, did you know we have Twitter accounts? Occasionally we'll post snippets of this, but we largely use it to keep in touch (read: tease/abuse) each other. If you're at all interested (but why would you be?):

Ginny: ginevrampotter

Me: H_J_Potter

Back to the story then, eh?

Bellatrix Lestrange was putting up one hell of a fight. There was terror in her eyes the likes of which I never knew her capable. From the moment I had pounced on her, she had been letting out a pitiful, primal scream that never ceased. She wriggled and cried and begged for release, and once nearly escaped my grasp. Now, though, I finally had her. I had her back against the wall with my hands firmly around her throat. The Killing Curse would not suffice. I needed to physically kill her, to feel her last breath pass beneath my hands.

"_Harry! _What are you doing?" asked Hermione, looking both nauseated and terrified. Her eyes darted between my victim and me. It was obvious she was searching for a way to intervene, shifting her weight from foot to foot with a kind of panic I couldn't understand. Didn't she know who this was?

"She's a Horcrux!" I yelled furiously, desperate for them to understand. "He put his soul into her at the last minute, when he realized we were hunting his other ones. She has to be destroyed, _she's the last Horcrux!"_

Out of nowhere, a strong pair of hands suddenly took hold of my shoulders and forced me away from the wall. They spun me around until I was looking into the face of my best mate. He shook me so hard that I could practically hear my brain sloshing around inside my skull.

"You're dreaming, Harry," he said gruffly. There was a cold seriousness in his voice so unusual that it woke me at once. "Wake up. You're dreaming."

The fog lifted from my nightmare. I shuddered violently as I was dropped harshly back into reality. Ron was still giving me that icy stare, though now I could see a fair amount of fear behind his eyes. I whirled around to see Hermione comforting a small figure that had crumpled to the floor, a figure whose face was hidden by long ginger hair and slender fingers on her feminine hands.

My knees started to buckle; Ron caught me before I collapsed.

"Ginny?" I asked weakly. Slowly I got down to my knees and crawled to the wall against which she and Hermione were leaning. "Ginny…I am so sorry…I didn't know, I was dreaming, I thought you were – I thought – "

The words caught in my throat.

It was quite possibly the most horrific thing I had ever experienced – and that includes the time I watched Nagini emerge from the body of a woman who had been dead for three weeks. Watching loved ones die, watching them suffer, is nothing compared with knowing that you're the one causing it. I reached over and very cautiously tried to smooth her hair away from her face. She flinched at my touch. Even though I was sure it was involuntary and that someday she would understand, it made my heart ache. I backed away a couple meters, still sitting cross-legged on the floor.

I tucked my hands beneath my legs just in case.

"I know," she said thickly, "I know you didn't mean it. Just give me a minute, all right?"

Everything in her voice told me that I was instantly forgiven, but the heaving of her shoulders as she silently cried spoke to another feeling altogether. There was nothing I could do. I felt completely helpless. I _hate _feeling helpless.

Torn between a need to explain myself and a fear of causing her more pain, I sat stupefied on the floor for several minutes. Finally Ron got me up, dusted me off, and guided me toward the kitchen.

"Don't worry mate, she'll be fine," he said as he rummaged through the cabinets. There was a noticeable chill to his words that he was doing a poor job of disguising. Dazed, I dropped down hard on one of the chairs by the table. I couldn't stop staring at my hands as though they were a separate, villainous part of me. What had I done?

Ron found what he was looking for – a pair of mugs – and poured us each tea from the still-steaming kettle. When he turned around to hand mine to me, his expression visibly softened.

"Look, she grew up with six older brothers, and I can't say we exactly made it easy for her. Plus, you heard what Hogwarts was like when we were gone, and she made it through that, didn't she? She's tougher than she looks. She'll come 'round, you'll see."

It was a fair point. I nodded silently and hoped against hope that he was right.

Mrs. Weasley appeared about a half hour later, her arms laden with groceries. We decided it was best not to mention the chaos that had just occurred. Anxious for a distraction, I quickly offered to give her a hand. I'm sure she suspected something; she gave me a wary look as she asked me to cook up the bacon and sausages. Nevertheless, she never asked a single question, and for that I was deeply grateful.

Breakfast was a quiet affair, largely due to the tremendous yawns that were going around the table. Hermione emerged from the sitting room with Ginny, who now looked much more calm and composed. Ginny sat beside me, gave me a soft smile, and squeezed my knee under the table. Other than that, she acted as though nothing had happened. My heart swelled with affection. This was definitely the girl for me.

_Aww. You're just happy I didn't punch you in the face._

Well, there _is _that.

After several rounds of tea, Ron and Hermione finally decided it was time to set off. Mrs. Weasley bustled about the house, making sure they had everything they might need (and some things they might not). "Have you got enough blankets? Remembered the little cook stove? You've got enough food, haven't you? Here, you'd better take more, just in case."

It was a good thing Hermione still had her bottomless beaded bag, or else the two of them would have been too laden down by Mrs. Weasley's "extras" to get very far.

"_Mum,"_ groaned Ron as she shoved two fully-cooked chickens into the bag, "we'll be all right, honest, it's not like we haven't done this before."

The sudden reminder of our dangerous wartime exodus made Mrs. Weasley purse her lips, stop what she was doing and storm wordlessly from the room. Hermione shot Ron a dirty look, but he was too busy forcing the second chicken into the bag to notice.

Only after a couple of hugs, a few tears, and a great many promises to write did Ron and Hermione finally grasp hands outside the Burrow and Disapparate. I felt a strange pang as they popped out of view. It had been ages since I had done anything without them, the last time being my wooded confrontation with Voldemort, and even then I knew precisely where they were. Watching them disappear into the unknown made me feel tense and even somewhat lonely.

At least there was Ginny. As we walked back into the house, she slipped her arm casually and reassuringly around my waist. I returned the gesture and kissed the top of her forehead, appreciative that she wasn't holding the events of the morning against me. That had always been the wonderful thing about her: she wasn't a weeper. She didn't hold grudges. She was, as Ron had said, tougher than all that. I think perhaps that's why I opted for Hogwarts over Australia, as it were. As much as I keep apprised of the situation at the Ministry, I knew perfectly well I could have done so from abroad. The truth was, I had spent far too much time away from the one person who really understood me. I _needed _her.

_Well that's healthy._

Look, you want romance, that's the best I've got, all right? I love you and you bloody well know it.

_That's true love right there._

"So what have you two got planned for the day then?" asked Mrs. Weasley when we were all back in the house. Before I could open my mouth to tell her I wasn't sure, Ginny spoke.

"Actually, I was thinking we'd start making our way back to Hogwarts. Remember, a bunch of us want to get a head start on next year, seeing as our last year wasn't very productive? You do remember, don't you? I know I told you."

Ginny was suffering under the startled and confused expression on her mother's face. I half expected her to go into a fit and start throwing things about the house. To my surprise, she instead relaxed her muscles and actually _smiled_.

"Yes. Yes, of course," she said, with none of the tension she had exhibited earlier. "But what do you mean by 'making your way'?"

Thrown off by Mrs. Weasley's abrupt acceptance of our motives, Ginny faltered. "Well I – I mean, we haven't packed yet, so obviously we'd have to do that, and then…I dunno, I sort of thought maybe we would spend a couple days in Diagon Alley with George, and a day in Hogsmeade, since we'll be right there."

This was the first time I had heard any of this; she was addressing me as well as her mother. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye as if to say, "Is that all right with you?" Yet another thing I loved about her: she was assertive in those rare moments when I lost all ability to make a decision. I grinned boldly to tell her it sounded like a fine idea to me.

"Something of a holiday, is that it?"

The thing about being in love with your best friend's sister is that she's always there – at mealtimes, on holidays, and even at school. As we stood there, suddenly I became impressed with the idea that I was in fact a teenager asking my girlfriend's mother for permission to spend several days alone with her underage daughter. I held my hands behind my back, feeling my palms start to sweat.

Ginny, of course, never lost confidence.

"That's about right, yeah."

Her daring nerve would never cease to amaze me.

_Damn right. They didn't put me in Gryffindor for nothing._

Incredibly, Mrs. Weasley seemed pleased at the thought. "Oh, George would _love_ to see you! I think it's a wonderful idea. Why don't you start getting ready – oh no dear, I'll take care of that, never you mind," she said, shooing me away from the pile of dishes I had just gone over to wash. As Mrs. Weasley was happiest when she was tending house (and I was so dead awful at it), I was perfectly content to relinquish the responsibility and follow Ginny up the stairs.

"George hasn't a clue we're coming, has he?" I hissed at her back as we climbed.

"Not at all," she said with a smirk. "I'm going to go write him now. Doesn't make much difference though, does it? I mean obviously we'd save money, but I don't mind getting a room at the Leaky Cauldron if you don't."

It was starting to sound like a finer holiday than going abroad with Ron and Hermione. Surely both the shopping strip and the village had sustained considerable damage after the war, but it sounded lovely to visit them regardless. Besides, the shopkeepers would likely be keen on the business; renovation was expensive, after all.

I could also think of worse ways to spend a few days than with the girl I had so recklessly abandoned last year.


	18. Chapter 16

_Ginny_

The kiss that Harry planted on my forehead as we walked back into the house was so tender and kind that I could hardly recognize it as his. Harry was not the gentlest kisser I knew. His lips had always been hard, his touch rough and rugged. I couldn't exactly say I was surprised. Now, though, as I felt the soft dampness against my skin, I positively shivered – not out of joy but rather out of fear.

There is nothing more frightening than waking up to your boyfriend's hands around your throat. I had been having a lovely dream about the captain of the Ballycastle Bats whom I had fancied to some extent for quite some time.

_Well in that case I'm _glad _I woke you!_

Are you?

…

The next thing I knew, I was being thrown out of bed and tackled to the ground. Despite the overwhelming panic that threatened to glue me to the spot, I'd managed to wriggle free and make a mad dash for the stairwell. I'd barely gotten to the foot of the stairs before Harry had had me pinned against the wall, his strength so formidable that I felt dizzy and lightheaded in mere seconds. I was sure I was going to die. A bitter storm raged behind his glossed-over eyes. It would give me nightmares for weeks.

And then, just like that, he snapped out of it.

I recognized the wakened Harry. I had always prided myself on knowing him better than anybody. The fact that a switch could flip and he could suddenly become this dreadful Mr. Hyde scared me half to death. I told Hermione as much when I sobbed uncontrollably into her shoulder, unnerved and humiliated. "It's just the war," she'd said soothingly, "he's just coping with the aftershocks, that's all. It won't go on that much longer. You'll see."

I wanted to believe it, so I decided to believe it. For the time being, I chose to dismiss the warrior Harry as an anomaly and treat him as though nothing had changed between us. As though I felt absolutely no trepidation toward him whatsoever.

When he pulled me in for that kiss, I knew that I was doing a brilliant job of faking it.

Halfway through packing – and by "packing" I mean my tossing necessities into a battered old suitcase while Harry gaped at me and tried to steal kisses – I heard a loud tapping at the bedroom window. A large eagle owl was already perched on the sill with what I assumed was George's reply stuffed in its beak. Sure enough, I opened the window and retrieved the message which read simply,

_Can't wait._

I immediately recognized the hastened scrawl as George's. You might think the brevity of the note implied that he didn't want us there and was only trying to be polite. But you don't know my brother. He and Fred had never been men of many words when it came to writing. They preferred to do everything in person, resorting to quills only when crucially necessary. Feeling it was useless to respond when we would be there momentarily, I thanked the delivery owl and shut the window again.

It wasn't until after lunch that we finally set off for Diagon Alley, mostly because Mum insisted on feeding us and stuffing our bags overfull much the same as she had done with Ron and Hermione.

"She's only looking out for us," Harry whispered to me with an amused grin as she tried to pack a couple of overcoats in our bag. In the end she had to cast a Shrinking Spell on them to make them fit, reassuring us that they would "come back to life right enough" with a good Engorgement Charm.

_I'll give you –_

Harry you are 31 years old; if you make some sort of sexually explicit joke regarding Engorgement Charms I swear on Merlin's gym socks that I will divorce you.

_You swear on _what?

As much as I was looking forward to doing something productive again, I'll admit that I felt a bit guilty as we stepped out the door. All of her children were now out of the house and it wasn't even September yet. I was bizarrely proud of the brave face she wore as she waved us goodbye. At the last minute, I ran and flung my arms around her, trying to say "thank you" and "I'm proud of you" and "I love you" all at once.

I could tell by the way she hugged me back and sighed that she understood.

We Apparated directly into Diagon Alley, just outside the Leaky Cauldron where we felt it stood the chance of being the most crowded. The wizarding high street, normally teeming with life this time of year, was anything but. It was, however, less deserted than we'd anticipated. A good number of witches and wizards and even a handful of families were wandering down the cobbled alley, peering into windows that until a week ago were boarded up and empty. The majority of the shopkeepers were apparently on Harry's recovery schedule: a day or two to heal and regroup, and then back to business.

Everyone seemed keen to return to life as usual, and I couldn't say that I blamed them.

Harry hooked his arm around mine and together we settled into an easy stroll. Not all of the shops had re-opened, and those that had had only partially done so. The Apothecary had more herbs in boxes than on the shelf, and half the bookcases in Flourish and Blott's were empty. The manager had his wand aimed at the sign hanging over one such bookcase: he was slowly peeling the letters from it, and as such it now read "SECRETS OF THE DAR".

Neither of us said a word as we passed Ollivander's, still dark and lifeless. I cast a spell that pulled black curtains over the windows as a sign of respect. Harry squeezed my hand and offered me a rare smile. In that moment, I was brought back to a time about five years ago when I had come running downstairs to see Harry Potter sitting at our breakfast table.

I had had an unbearable crush on him that entire summer. He was all I could talk about, all I could think about. The Boy Who Lived, with his sloppy black hair and sparkling green eyes. And now here he was, eating breakfast with my brothers as though it were nothing out of the ordinary. I was so shocked to see him, the boy I had dreamt about at least twice that summer already, that I couldn't manage two words. Then, as now, he had smiled at me with such warmth and affection that any hope I'd had for communication was lost.

I locked the sight of that tender smile away in my memory for years.

Now here we were, a real couple at last, and I found myself doing everything in my power to restrain him from going down Knockturn Alley.

"Harry, there can't possibly be any Dark wizards down there," I insisted, pulling him hard by the wrist. "Don't you think that's the first place the Aurors would have gone?"

"You don't know that, not for sure. There could still be a couple skulking around that they missed," he growled. The idea that an entire team of Aurors could possibly miss one or two Death Eaters down one of the busiest shopping streets in England was ludicrous. It was, however, difficult to tell him that when he was threatening to throw his full weight against my grip.

"Don't bother, mate," came a young male voice from behind us. "Dean, Seamus and I already had a look. There's nothing there."

It was Neville Longbottom, the last person I would have expected to _stop _Harry chasing after Death Eaters. He had his hands stuffed in his pockets with an air of calm courage. Overall he looked much improved, though there was still a long scar across his forehead from where the Sorting Hat had seared his flesh. It would probably be there for the rest of his life. _One more thing for him and Harry to have in common, _I thought grimly.

_I hadn't told you about the prophecy yet, had I?_

The whole "neither can live while the other survives" bit? No. No, you had not.

_Brilliant._

I'll say.

Harry looked as surprised to see him as I felt. Knowing his recent tendency to blow things up when he was startled, I braced for the impact. To my relief, Harry reached not for his wand but for Neville's hand.

"Neville!" he said, shaking his friend's hand with an enthusiastic vigor. "What are you doing here? Haven't seen you since...well, it's good to see you, anyway."

The last time they had seen each other, Harry and I had ended the evening with a blazing row in front of virtually everyone we knew. It was certainly an awkward moment, but Neville pushed past it as if he hadn't noticed.

"Good to see you too. Gran and I were just off to Flourish and Blotts, you know, preparing for N.E.W.T.s and all that. I was always really good at Herbology, so I thought I'd try my hand at that." He waved his own words away impatiently. "Never mind that though. Harry, have you seen the Daily Prophet lately?"

A shadow of horror passed over Harry's face. "No, I haven't looked at that paper in ages. Why?" he asked sharply. "Is it the new Minister? What's she done now, given medals to the surviving Death Eaters for acts of heroics?"

"What? No – well, I don't know, I highly it doubt though. No, Harry look." He pulled a copy out from his back pocket and unfurled it for us. On the front page was an austere-looking witch with her arms crossed in front of her and her wand held at the ready. The headline above her read, "NEW MINISTRY REFORMS SEEK A RETURN TO NORMALCY".

"Well that's not news, Harry, we've known that all along, haven't we?" I said a low voice, anxious to keep him calm but at the same time not hurt Neville's feelings. At first Harry looked puzzled, but then something caught his eye. He grabbed the paper in order to get a better look at it.

"No, not that," he murmured. "Look, down here at the bottom. It's just a little piece down here by an ad for used cauldrons. _'Malfoy family spotted in Bulgaria. Ministry officials could not be reached for comment.'"_

My heart sank as Harry looked up from the paper to meet Neville's eyes. It was the same look of steely resolve that he had worn when the head of the Auror department announced he was putting together a special task force. Harry had made up his mind about something and would not be deterred.

"Neville. You know what this means, don't you?"

"We've got to go after them."


	19. Chapter 17

_Harry_

It is very, _very _important to remember that this was Neville's idea from the start. The words "we've got to go after them" came out of his mouth _long _before they had formed in my brain.

_Just because your brain is slower than Neville's doesn't mean you weren't thinking the exact same bloody thing. I wish you could have seen the look in Harry's eyes, that gleam of sheer determination that is so sexy and yet so frustrating –_

I do believe this is my section. You've already said your piece; let me have mine.

_Fine._

I'll admit, when I saw the name "Malfoy" and the words "now in custody" didn't immediately follow, bitter resentment coursed through me like a bad potion. Contrary to _someone's _belief, however, my gut instinct was not to chase after them myself. Actually, my first thought was that I needed to find and confront this new Minister of Magic, as she was clearly not doing her job.

Neville's idea, though, seemed so much quicker and more instantly gratifying.

"Bulgaria," I mused, folding up the paper and handing it back to him. "Well, we can't just Apparate there directly – "

"We can't?" asked Neville.

"I mean, we _could_, but the chances of getting Splinched are a lot higher if we do." An odd inquisitive look from Ginny caused me to sheepishly add, "Something Hermione said when we were hunt – when we were on the run." I was in no mood to explain Horcruxes to Neville, and in any case, there were more pressing issues at hand.

And speaking of hands, Ginny was squeezing mine rather hard.

"We'll do better if we cross into one country at a time. We can get a map while we're here," I said, already starting off toward the stationery shop. Ginny tugged my hand so hard that I thought she would pull my arm clean off.

"Take one more step and _we are over_," she hissed in my ear. Sensing imminent danger, Neville muttered something about needing parchment anyway and hurried off.

Ginny immediately rounded on me. "Harry James Potter, what in the name of Merlin do you think you're doing?" she seethed. The way her eyes blazed reminded me so strongly of her mother that for a moment I could hardly take her seriously. "We are supposed to be on _holiday. _Together. Or have you forgotten that?"

"Look, I'm sorry, but this is important, okay?"

"More important than me?"

"Well…yeah."

Looking back now, it probably wasn't the cleverest thing to say. At the time, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The Ginny Weasley _I _knew would never have asked me to choose between spending time with her and fighting against Death Eaters. The fact that this was even a question took me completely by surprise.

"Harry," she continued, "there are a hundred other wizards that can deal with the Malfoys, wizards that are trained for exactly this sort of thing. Besides, George is expecting us. For once in your life, couldn't you _please _just forget it and let someone else do the fighting?"

I was beyond confused. "No I can't 'just forget it'. You saw the article. The Ministry clearly intends to let them go. That is an evil, blood-thirsty family; the danger they'd pose – Ginny, why are we even discussing this? If this is about spending time together, come with us. Nobody said you weren't invited."

"Invited? You talk about it like it's a damn party!" she scoffed. "This is about loads more than just spending time together. But you're not going to understand that, are you? You're _never _going to understand that. If you're not off saving the world, you feel like you have no purpose. That's a _psychosis, _that is. Well, fine. Go save the world then. But don't expect me to be here when you get back."

With that, she turned sharply on her heels and marched in the opposite direction.

"You're being ridiculous, you're – you're fighting with me like Hermione does with Ron!" I yelled after her. But it didn't matter. I watched her hair sway across her back as she stormed off, showing no signs of turning around. Nothing I could say would change her mind. Sometimes she could be so damn…

…_stubborn?_

Yes exactly.

_Huh. Wonder what that feels like._

You are absolutely my soulmate. We belong together.

_Amazing._

I was still trying to process what had just happened when Neville returned, clutching an enormous map of all of Europe. Every country between England and Russia was clearly etched onto the parchment, as well as colorful symbols indicating areas of both high wizard and Muggle density. "So we don't accidentally Apparate into a major Muggle metropolois," Neville explained.

"It's brilliant!" I exclaimed as I pointed my wand to unfurl the giant map in midair. The tips of Neville's ears glowed bright red.

"Where's Ginny?" he asked, glancing over my shoulder as though expecting her to be crouched behind me or some other such thing. I shook my head while staring hard at the image of the English Channel. There looked to be a significant number of Muggle settlements along the coastline of France, though there was a good-sized mixed village just outside of Le Havre that seemed promising.

"Is everything all right between you two?"

At last I managed to pry myself away from the map and look at Neville directly. He had an expression of sympathy mixed with concern on his face, his eyes intently searching mine. I had the sudden image in my head of him in handsome dress robes with a radiant 13-year-old Ginny on his arm. "Yeah," I said with a smile, folding up the map and tucking it in the outside pocket of the suitcase Ginny had left behind. "Everything's fine, mate. Look, if we're really going to do this, we ought to do it now. I've got all my things already; I just need to make a quick stop at Gringott's. You'll probably want to get a few things together…what do you say we meet at the Leaky Cauldron in an hour?"

"Quicker than that if I can manage it," he said with a grin before Disapparating on the spot.

It felt incredible to be walking with purpose again. The idea of doing something, actually doing something _meaningful, _was intoxicating to me. I felt the heady sense of determined action, like drinking too much firewhisky too quickly. It wasn't until I had stomped halfway up the marble steps to Gringott's that I was realized that was exactly what Ginny had accused me of. Had I been inconsiderate to her in the process? No, I thought dismissively, I invited her along with me. She'd played the female card "If you don't know what's wrong, I'm not going to tell you."

Too much time alone with Hermione, I finally decided.

_I'll give you that, it _was _rather uncharacteristic for me to argue with you like that. But I had my reasons._

HOLY MOTHER OF MORGANA, did I just win a fight?

_Sure. Sure you did._

…

As the last time I had been to Gringott's I had broken into a vault, cast an Unforgiveable Curse, and fled on their only guardian dragon, I worried that my reception would be lukewarm at best. It was a pleasant surprise to learn that I was welcomed back with open arms – though a team of goblins retrieved my money for me rather than allowing me entry to my own vault. I made no sign of protest.

True to his word, Neville arrived at the Leaky Cauldron within the half hour. Thanks to Hermione's patience in teaching me her Undetectable Extension Charm, we managed to fit all of our belongings into his rucksack without much trouble. I had planned on leaving straight away, but the old innkeeper insisted on buying us a round of drinks. Every other patron in the pub seemed to have the same idea, until we found ourselves surrounded by empty butterbeer bottles and more plates of food than we knew what to do with.

"Mr. Potter, oh, I was _so _disappointed that I didn't see your name on the ballot for Minister!" proclaimed an elderly witch who had shaken my hand so many times I thought perhaps she was senile. There were general murmurs of assent in the crowd. I couldn't help laughing, despite a vigorous round of "I would've voted for you, right enough" and "Do a better job than old Themis, I expect."

"I appreciate it, really, but the one we've got is loads more qualified than I am. I mean honestly, can you imagine me as Minister?" I chuckled toward Neville. His arms were folded across the table, and he was picking at the label on a bottle of butterbeer with his thumb.

"You'd make a great Minister if you wanted to," he said softly.

This day was destined to be full of surprises, it seemed.

"Well," I said, eager to leave before the food settled and I became too sleepy to do much of anything, "we'd best be off. Thank you so much for everything. Lovely to meet you all."

As I hitched the rucksack over my shoulder and Neville slowly stumbled out of his chair, I noticed a tangible sense of excitement in the air. The crowd was whispering in low and hurried voices that Harry Potter was on the move. On another great adventure, they told each other. Where was he going? What was he going to do? Did You-Know-Who leave behind some sort of legacy that needed to be taken care of, a successor even? What else could have captured the attention of the great Boy Who Lived?

Anonymity is so underrated.

The terrible fight with Ginny was still fresh in my mind as Neville and I cut across the Channel and settled for the night in a small French village called Pont-Audemer. There was a cluster of avenues which only contained wizarding homes, including a cozy inn with a friendly witch who barely spoke English. Four Galleons gave us a tiny room with two beds so short that our feet hung over the side. Neville was asleep in an instant, but my past conversations with Ginny kept sleep at a far distance. I found myself sitting by the window in an oversized armchair, staring out at the night sky. A couple of stars accompanied the rising moon, big and bloated and orange.

"If you're not off saving the world, you feel like you have no purpose. That's a _psychosis, _that is." There was something to that, I thought as I folded my knees to my chest and rested my chin on them. If I wasn't running off to do this or fix that, I wasn't happy. The entire time I was at the Burrow, I felt trapped. How could I possibly expect to live the rest of my life like this? But then, why was Ginny so angry about it? Part of me understood, but the rest wanted to shake her and scream, "You knew what you were getting into when you first got involved with me!"

Irritated, confused and lonely, I gradually slipped into a restless sleep that was broken only by a flash of lightning at the window. Wait a moment…it was a beautiful May evening without a cloud in the sky. What on earth…? I got up and opened the window to investigate, but when I found nothing I decided I had dreamt it and groggily got into bed.


	20. Chapter 18

_Ginny_

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

Fool me three times and you must be Harry Potter.

I could feel the blood pounding in my head in rhythm to my heavy footsteps against the cobblestone. Before me I could still clearly see Harry's utterly bemused face. My hands balled involuntarily into fists. "Why are we even discussing this?" he'd asked. The sound of it cut through me like a knife. Hadn't we _just _had this fight, and not for the first time? Why was he still so baffled by it? What about it was so damn hard to understand?

Since George was still expecting us and I didn't want to be rude, I made my way to the joke shop where he and Fred had settled into an upper-level flat. The shop was completely dark and silent. There was none of its usual vibrant cheer, no whirring objects or things flying clear across the room, no children laughing at this gimmick or that game. It was a bit depressing, to be honest.

I banged my fist on the glass door harder than I meant to; I saw several objects in the vicinity wobble in response. Almost immediately the window upstairs was flung open and George poked his head out. "Oi, you're going to shatter something, you are! If that's you sis, come on up before you smash the entire house down!"

The door was locked, so I took his call to be an invitation to Apparate directly into the house. I made sure to aim for just outside the flat door, which was open in any case, and let myself in.

Even when Fred was alive, I had never stepped foot in their place. It was tiny and cramped, with piles of boxes stacked everywhere. Scrawled across the sides of the boxes were labels such as "Trick Wands", "WonderWitch" and "Wildfire Whizbangs". One particularly large box, which was being used to hold a dusty old lamp, read "Portable Swamp – DANGEROUS. Best if used against meddling Ministry".

From a kitchen that looked about the same size as my wardrobe back home, three steaming mugs of tea flew in midair and landed clumsily on what I was supposed was a coffee table (though it looked more like a pack of old boxes with a sheet draped unceremoniously over them). George scooted out from the kitchen, aiming his wand at a box of sugar cubes that followed the same trajectory as the mugs.

"All out of milk it looks like, so this will have to – where's Harry?" he asked, suddenly aware of the absence of one bespectacled, messy-haired, lightning-bolt-scarred wizard.

"Question of the day," I sighed loudly. A Decoy Detonator perched on the windowsill caught my eye. It had a large dent in the side and looked as though it had already been detonated several times and was now a dud. I toyed with it as, interestingly, a distraction. "Anyway, how are you holding up out here? How's everything downstairs?"

George dropped into an overstuffed sofa by the makeshift table. "It's all right. Finally got up the nerve to have a look down there yesterday. Nothing's changed. I know it sounds stupid, but it sort of surprised me. I turned on the lights and the first thing I saw was an old ledger from before we went into hiding. Fred's handwriting was all over it…well anyway, I'd clean forgotten we'd talked about buying out Zonko's in Hogsmeade. Still might, actually. We'll have to – I mean, I'll have to see how well business picks up. Shouldn't be too bad though. Ron offered to give us – I mean me – a hand when he gets back. There's still backorders to go through from when we were living at Muriel's, so I expect we'll have things back up and running in no time."

Each time he stuttered and corrected himself, I winced without meaning to. He and Fred had worked so hard and for so long together on this beloved pet project of theirs that it was hard to think of George running it all himself. Ron would come as a huge help, but as I looked around at the mounds of inventory that surrounded me, I wondered how much even the two of them would be able to accomplish.

"Oh don't worry about me, I'll be all right," he said as he caught my wandering eye. "Tell me what's happened with you and Harry. First you want to come by with barely more than ten-minutes' notice, and then you show up without him. What's with the sudden change of plans?"

"If anyone's suddenly changing plans it's him," I said hotly, nearly spilling tea all down my front in the process. "I don't know, he saw something in the Prophet about the Malfoys and decided to run off after them. Right there, on the spot. No consulting me, no planning ahead, just – left. Neville went with him. I don't know why I'm surprised; Neville's been encouraging him to do stupid and rash things since we were kids."

George lifted an eyebrow at me. "Didn't consult you? Since when does Harry need your permission to do anything?"

"Well no, not my _permission _exactly_, _but – I'm just saying it would be nice if he had told me _before _he decided to skip the country on this ridiculous scavenger hunt."

"He should have told you he was going after the Malfoys _before _he read about them in the paper? Has he got a Time Turner now too, or is he taking lessons from Trelawney?"

"No, that's not – you're not – you're not listening!"

"Look," said George, pressing his hands together and bending toward me in a show of sincerity, "it sounds to me like you're trying to cage a wild dragon. Harry isn't a Pygmy Puff you can keep locked away in your room, happy as long as it's fed and watered. And the last I checked, neither were you. You sound like you're trying to settle down and, I dunno, make a house husband out of him or something. Are you mad? That's not like you at all! What in the name of Circe has gotten into you?"

_George is officially my favorite._

There are times in life when you need someone to give you a good hard shake and set you back on track. This was clearly one of those times, and precisely the reason why I had decided to confide in George. Curiously, the twins had always been good for harsh reality checks, probably because they took reality so lightly themselves. I hated the way he looked at me, his eyes narrowed yet with a playful smirk across his face.

Trouble was, he was smirking because he was right and I knew it. I stared at the table, at the bits of tea leaves I could see swirling at the bottom of my cup. He was right; this wasn't like me at all. The truth was, I was angry with Harry for a dozen other things, and this was how it finally came out. Of course I didn't want to domesticate him. That was ludicrous, and anyway, I liked the so-called wild dragon that he was.

The thought that struck me was so exhilarating that I sprang to my feet, my wand firmly in my fist.

"You know what, you're right. I'm going with him."

"_With _him? Hang on now, that's not quite what I – " George started to protest, getting up as though to stop me, but with a flick of my wrist I had the Silencing Charm on him. I had only seconds before he would break the charm by sheer force of will – the main reason why I never bothered to use it on Harry –

_HEY._

- so I acted fast. With a hug around the middle and a quick kiss on the cheek, I thanked him for having me, wished him luck, gave him my love, and told him I would be in touch soon.

And then I was gone.

As I had no idea where Harry gone, I Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron to arrange my thoughts and decide on a destination. It felt a bit insane: Ron and Hermione were chasing after her parents, Neville and Harry were chasing after the Malfoys, and I was chasing after Neville and Harry. It was the worst game of tag ever.

Inside, the old, stooped bartender was whistling under his breath as he wiped down glasses and set them over his head. He was positively cheerful, and small wonder; his pub was probably doing more business now than it had in weeks. It was a sort of cheerfulness that contrasted horribly with how I felt. Panic was starting to set in. Harry had gone after the Malfoys somewhere in Bulgaria. Where in the world, then, did I start looking for Harry?

I felt it before I saw it. A calm, soothing comfort fell over me like a warm blanket on a bitter winter's night, seemingly out of nowhere. It was strange and yet familiar. Before I could quite put my finger on it, a flame flashed suddenly into existence on the pub table in front of me. Startled, I shrieked, and then immediately clapped my hand over my mouth in embarrassment. Fawkes had chosen just that moment to appear to me, and was staring at me with the same curious interest he had shown the day before. I kept my hands clasped firmly to my mouth as I looked wildly around the pub. No one had heard me, no one had seen Fawkes' abrupt and elaborate manifestation, and from the looks of it, no one could see him now. Was this all part of the phoenix's mysterious glamour?

Though his break remained closed, I could hear his song as plainly as if he were singing it to me. Did phoenixes also the power to get into one's head? It was clear this bird still had some tricks left up its feathers.

"You're here because I'm worried about Harry, because I don't know where he is, aren't you?" I whispered for fear of attracting attention. He bowed his head so low that his beak nearly touched the table, then slowly lifted it halfway and fixed his eyes steadily on some point behind me. I followed his line of sight, hoping somewhat childishly that he was pointing me in the direction of some clue.

To my dismay, all I saw was a spare bit of parchment that someone had left carelessly behind.

When I turned to question Fawkes, he simply spread his wings wide, let out a piercing cry that somehow no one else managed to hear, and was gone.

Well, this was not the first time I had been led toward something that made little to no sense. I _did _attend Hogwarts for six years, after all. Whether out of some inane sense of curiosity or an unknown psychotic death wish, I walked up and poked the folded-up parchment with my wand.

_Yep, you are definitely the girl for me._

Writing crawled slowly across the page – hasty, cramped, boyish sort of handwriting. I didn't bother to read it. I didn't need to. Shaking my head with both disappointment and silent laughter, I pointed my wand at the parchment again and thought, quite clearly, _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._

Harry had taught me the secret to his beloved map back when we were first together, when I saw it sticking out from a desk drawer and feared it to be a page from the Half-Blood Prince's book. But this was not the same map. This was far larger, requiring me to spread it across three tables just to read it. It showed the entirety of Europe, from the Iberian peninsula to the Ural mountains, and what looked to be every human settlement in between. Every dot on the page was either red or blue, and though I didn't know what each represented, it made no difference.

A heavy black circle around a village in northern France told me exactly where to go.


End file.
